The Warehouse
by Loonymoon
Summary: This jumble of emotions could be called love. I never expected it to be this cruel or complicated or humiliating. Love that’s not… convenient. JPxSS
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is unbeta'd crap, but I like it. It's rated for drug use and sexual references. This may or may not be a one-shot. I dunno. If you don't like James and Severus in awkward situations, don't read.

Disclaimer: This was inspired by J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, Fight club, Dave Matthews and Pulp fiction. I don't own anything but my soul.

There is a warehouse in the outskirts of London.

It was once a paper factory. Now the boarded up windows house a circus of hippies, drugs and music every Friday night. The lights, pink, neon green, purple cascade from the brick building and the rock and roll pulses until plaster falls from the ceiling. It's a modern speakeasy, clinging to the expanding culture of another generation. The magical and the muggles stare at lava lamps and talk random philosophy. It's a beautiful thing.

That's the only reason I agreed to go there, I think, to get away from ministry racists and insane killers. I truly love muggles, even when they are puking their guts out over the trash. It's a place where I can be temporarily free.

The cops ignore the warehouse because this part of London is so dirt poor that it could us the business of lame stoners walking into random restaurants and ordering more than they can eat.

Sirius was the one who brought me there, he wanted to "experiment" he said. Sirius wore leather too much now, drank too much, slept around too much, listened to rock and roll and smoked too much. Sirius Black _was_ too much.

He had a mean, rebellious streak, which hardly bothered me, I mean… he always had it. When you're fifteen being rebellious makes sense, even when you're eleven it makes sense. But when you're twenty-two you're supposed to be figuring out what you want from your life. "Settling down" like my mum says. Not wasting your life away on drugs and sex, not pretending you don't have any responsibility when you do, not denying someone loves you. I told him I wouldn't hold his hand if he died before he was fifty. I wouldn't even come to the wake. Sirius laughed and rolled his eyes, and said, "Sure you would, pal," giggling his nuts off from the after affects of some drug. But a part of me was completely serious.

I want to be free, but also to be held responsible for things now. Be a citizen and not a marauder. Sirius doesn't get that. Maybe that's why he brought me to the warehouse. He wants me to still be part of the gang.

I asked Lily to marry me two weeks ago, and she left me hanging without an answer.

She always leaves me dangling. I only love her as much as she hates me.

"This place is good," says Sirius as I smell oregano from inside as he opens a rotting door, "I don't think it's too intimidating." There's a mushroom cloud of smoke that fogs everything.

Hindu tapestries, a plastic Buddha, a beard as long as Dumbledore's pinned underneath a pale blue guitar, Led Zepplin, red lipstick, underwear on the floor, women in purple tights, how would it not be intimidating?

I take one, two, three breaths, and already I felt woozy. Sirius is gone.

I love Sirius, I _do_ love him, but in that moment I couldn't handle the feeling of being sucked into the smoke. Sucked into nothingness, like a black hole, the shadow of the sun.

I lean towards the door, and Sirius is suddenly there, breathing bourbon-stale breath into my ear, "You don't like it? Here… go to the roof and light up… I'll be there in a minute." He hands me a joint and his American-flag lighter. I smell perfume above the overpowering cloud of oregano, and there's a blond tugging at Sirius' leather jacket (the jacket _I _gave him) whispering sweet nothings, with a skirt that is so small he'll have no problem slipping between her legs… I have a feeling it'll be a while till I see him next.

_What the hell_, I think to myself, as I clunk up the rotting steps, careful not to misplace my foot and land two stories down. I put the joint between my teeth and inexpertly play with the lighter. I've never not used magic to light it up… what's that wheely-thing for? I'm getting angrier with every step. _I miss Lily. Why did Sirius bring me out to ditch me? Why didn't he bring Remus too? We never see much of him anymore_. I know Peter would just piss himself if he was here, but Remus… I wonder if Sirius is mad at him for some reason…

And than that sweet, spring night air hits me, it sprays up my skinny legs and down my neck and freezes the tip of my tongue. The stars are beautiful, the sky black and blue, the heavens are a vast expanse above me and I am now free, no longer confined by the tapestries and plaster of the warehouse.

Laughter. Gorgeous, calming laughter echoes across the sky and then settles near my chest. I don't really register, I just stare at the sky, hands in my pockets and blunt between my teeth. I smile when I shiver. Only when I've walked towards the source of the song do I look down.

"Snape," I said to myself. There he is, the slimy git, the prey of the marauders, the dark arts student. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

It should have looked odd; the lover of the dark arts, the 'mudblood'-hater, the boy that would rather roll in shit than shake a muggle's hand sitting on the edge of this brick building, the muggle haven of 'love' and 'expanding the mind'. But it didn't. Severus Snape even, dare I say it, looked good.

He held a smoking blunt between two fingers, his neck was adored with silver necklaces, some even baring the slytherin mark. He wore a black shirt, black trench coat, black pants. His legs were folded across the leather. His hair was half in a ponytail, something he had never done in school.

His laugher hadn't stopped, and it didn't sound as unnerving as it should have. It was deep and rumbling, but not in a Santa Claus way. It hissed at the edges, like a giggling snake. It went up and down, like music, really, hitching upwards occasionally. He pressed his lips together until he stopped. "What does it look like I'm doing, Potter? I'm smoking a joint…"

"No, what are you doing _here_?" I ask.

He bursts out again, as if me being here was the funniest thing he had ever seen. "I _live_ here, you jackass," and he pointed, pointed to where the sky was still fading red, to some black apartments by the riverbank.

"You do, do you?" I ask again, not quite believing that someone so involved with Voldemort would be living among muggles, much less smoking their pot.

"You… you!" says Snape inarticulately, raising and lowering his hands to emphasize his disbelief. His laughter is fading, and he coughs deeply. "Fucking you!" he says again.

"Fucking me," I say.

"Why are you just holding that?"

I play with the lighter again. "I don't know how to fucking work the thing!"

He sniggers and hisses, taking Sirius' American lighter out of my hands and expertly flicking it to life.

He is so close to me, now. He lights me up, holding fire so close to my face that I wonder why he doesn't just light my hair on fire like a younger Snape would have done. But this Snape is different, he's smirking, and with a start I realize that I've never heard him laugh before. He's not looking at me like he hates me, but with calm, passive interest. Yet there's mischief in his Cheshire cat smile, and I can only compare it to an alley cat rubbing his head against my leg. I feel like I should be on my guard, but I'm not.

And I'm just as calm. There is no Hogwarts and teachers, no Lily, no Dumbledore. There's no one I have to prove myself to. And so my instinct to prove I'm a hero has subsided on the rooftops London. I stare into his eyes as he gives back the lighter.

I don't say thank you.

I take a deep drag, and I can feel it in my throat, nose, eyelids…

"What brings the Head Boy to smoke a joint I the shittiest place in London?"

I want to say "none of your fucking business, Snape," but cough out, "Sirius."

"Somehow I predicted that," Snape takes a hit, slow and long. He's not laughing anymore though. I want to make him laugh again. He just smiles, "The fall from grace is long and sweet."

I have no idea what he's talking about.

"You still dating Evans?"

I cough again. "Yeah…" I whisper, hesitantly.

"That's too bad," the blunt smokes on his knee.

"Too bad for you maybe."

He rolls his eyes at me. His whole head sways with the action, "I have no attraction for the red head. Don't worry." He closes his eyes. "I mean… you never got to explore other options, did you? Never had a night on the town. You were stuck with the witch since you laid eyes on her… since you were eleven. Don't know what you're missing."

"Isn't that what 'true love' is? Falling in love and not looking at anyone else?"

"Conventionally, yes."

Conventionally? What does he mean _conventionally_?

Apparently I asked the question out loud.

"Well, there are all sorts of non-conventional love. Adultery, incest… homosexuality…"

I rub my eyes and shake my head, "You're so fucking weird, Snape."

"We both knew that already."

When he smiles, I figure out what "smoking the peace pipe" really means. It means, via marijuana, you can get someone who hates your guts to have a normal conversation with you. It's awesome.

I can't ignore, though, the old rivalry and pretend it didn't happen. I don't know what makes me say it, perhaps it's the mention of Lily, but I whisper to him. "You know… in school."

He already looks uncomfortable.

"I know I used to pick on you for just being weird. And I… it was totally undeserved most of the time. It wasn't right. I tortured you daily for no reason other than boredom."

He isn't looking me in the eyes now, just into the vast, inky sky.

"I never looked at your side or your perspective at all. It wasn't right. I don't like myself anymore. I should have…" my throat catches on what I should have done. "You weren't a bad guy… I might have thought you were but you weren't. And it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, really. The more I thought you were bad, the more you defended yourself and the more I thought you were bad. But you're not bad. I'm rambling… but you know what I mean, don't you?"

He nods to the floor.

"I treated you like shit… and… it wasn't right. I was too self-righteous to recognize another person in pain. I guess what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry, Severus, for what I did to you. Everything. Really, I'm sorry."

The inky black head turns back and forth a few times. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is set in stone. Beneath strings of black hair, his eyelids blinked from the smoke. But there was wetness at the corners of his eyes.

_Holy shit_, I think to myself, _He's crying!_

He lets out a soft sob that he attempts to disguise as a cough, and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. The blunt between his fingers has almost completely turned to ash.

Before I know it I'm freaking hugging him.

He struggles, "Stop it, Potter," but the quavering of his voice is a dead giveaway.

"Please don't cry! I'm just an idiot! Smoke you joint!" I say pressing his head to my chest a little overdramatically.

He laughs out another sob, until he's calmed down. He pulls away, running pale fingers through his hair. He voice is low and normal again, "If you call me Snivellus I swear I'll kill you…"

"No, I won't… Sirius might, but I won't."

He sniffs, wiping his tears away with his sleeve. I can see through his attempts to look distinguished and mature, the straightness of his spine, his highness of his chin, but he's still a teen to me. "Thank you," he says softly. "That… it means a lot to me, that you said that." He smiles a little, drawing his coat around him. He shivers, and takes a final drag, and gets up. "It's cold… want to go get something to eat?"

"Sirius will be pissed if I waste this…" I raise the blunt. "…but…." I take a final puff and scrape the smoking joint on the bottom of my foot, "He can go fuck himself. Or fuck that bird. Whatever."

His smile does me in right then and there. I'm dead. It's hard to believe that Severus has become my femme fatal.

Moments later, after the bearded man his waved goodbye to Severus, and after we've passed the plastic Buddha, and after I can't find Sirius, we're out on the pavement strutting in the direction of lights and cars.

"Shouldn't you try to find him?" Severus whispers. Why is he whispering? Or maybe I'm just imagining that he's whispering.

"His bike's not here," I say, too loudly. "He went to go sleep with that blond."

"A blond guy?"

"N-n-nooo… a woman," I say.

Severus sniggers again, it's high pitched and hysterical. It's infectious and I giggle a little too. "Shuddup!" I laugh. "Sirius isn't gay!" He doesn't stop. His giggles bubble in up my stomach. He's stirring me like the potions genius he is. "He's not!"

"He's made _me_ wonder… once or twice," said Snape.

"You're one to talk," I say to him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" It's hard to tell whether or not he's actually mad at me.

"I mean…" I couldn't help to run my fingers through the fine, black hair. It wasn't as greasy as I always thought it was. "Look at your hair."

He felt the back of his neck with pale fingertips. "What's wrong with my hair?"

I play with his half-ponytail. I'm astonished that he doesn't pull away. "It's girl's hair."

He _is_ mad, but he's blushing all the same. Or maybe he's just red from the smoke...

"Thought it was supposed to be greasy…"

"No…" I trail my fingers through the hair on his neck. With a thrill, I think to myself, _I'm touching Severus Snape_. He reminds me of a cat that usually won't let anyone near him, that suddenly lets a stranger touch him. You touch him, just enough to hear him purr, but not enough to make him lean away. "Not as greasy as it looks. It's shiny. But… I mean… it's in a ponytail. Not the most masculine thing."

He hisses out his breath, my hand droops to the base of his neck; it's as soft as a dove's wing. "No maybe not. But… then again, maybe you _should_ wonder…"

I'm suddenly dizzy… his statement has hit me in the stomach. "You… what?"

He brushes off my hand, and turns away.

My mouth is dry, "You're gay?"

"I didn't say that… I just said that you should wonder," he mumbles.

My grin is twice as wide as normal; I feel it splitting my face, "Don't worry, Snape. I won't tell anyone…"

He sniffs, "Yeah, sure. Tomorrow, I'll expect rainbow balloons in front of my house courtesy of Sirius Black."

"So you _are_ a homosexual?" I think it was Lily who told me that saying 'homosexual' was more sensitive than calling a person 'gay' or 'queer'.

He sighs, "You're annoying."

We turn the corner, the road is getting blacker and blacker. I assume that the conversation is over until he whispers, "Not having a girlfriend even when your twenty-two makes you wonder about your sexuality. I'm _questioning_."

Severus has divulged something really embarrassing about himself… willingly… to me, of all people. I feel like I should receive a medal for befriending him…

"Just because you don't have a girlfriend, it doesn't make you queer," I advise.

"Yeah," he looks back at me, "but just because you _have_ a girlfriend… it doesn't make you straight, either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're just so cock-sure of yourself, especially when it comes to Evans."

I chuckle hysterically, "You said cock."

"Idiot."

"Does Snape like butt sex a little too much? Cock on the brain?"

"Shut up," he's smiling and trying to hide it. "Stop teasing me."

"You started it. You made the sex reference."

"You're so _stupid_, Potter," he's almost laughing now, almost there. "I was talking about a rooster, you know, male chicken. Cock."

I can't stop laughing.

"Oh, go back to Hogwarts. You deserve to be stuck with the fourth years, who burst into laughter every time someone yells 'penis'."

"I lost fifty points in one year for playing that game."

"I believe that. Still amuses you, does it?" Snape's blushing.

I shrug, "What can I say, I find sex funny."

He rolls his eyes, his eyelids are still puffy, "You would, Potter."

We stumble into a gross-looking diner. Morrey's American Café hangs in neon above the door. Everything is fifties style, from the metal-rimmed booths to the smooth milkshake glasses. I take a seat across from Severus in a red-cushioned plastic booth. "Come to this place often?" I ask him.

He waits until the waitress has handed them the one-sided menu and says, "Only when I'm stoned."

"Which is?"

He shrugs, "Not that often."

I look over the menu: All American Burgers, Cheese-loaded fries, Choco-rama Milkshake, and in the vegetarian section, grilled cheese. A ton of greasy food. "What's good here?" I ask him.

"Burgers," he hums into his menu. "And Shakes."

I look back down. There's a barbeque and cheddar burger that catches my eye. "Wanna share cheesy fries?" I ask.

"Sure," Snape whispers, eyes on his menu.

I swallow a lump in my throat, like I've asked him a much more important question than cheesy fries and that his answer means something special. "Kay," I say.

I fold my legs. An older waitress who chomps her gum takes our order. Snape breathes in and out, watching the dinner as it shifts and changes color.

"What makes you come here, Snape?"

He looks at me through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I mean, don't you hate muggles?"

He licks his lips, "No." He reaches for a drink that's not there, "I just don't think they should mix with witches and wizards, that's all." The waitress brings us our drinks. Mine's a cola, but Snape got a chocolate shake. He licks the spoon and makes euphoric little noises.

"But aren't you mixing with them, right now?" I ask, eyeing the spoon with envy.

His eyes light up as he sucks the spoon into his mouth and lets it out with a pop. "Until the wizarding world has fattening little munchies at midnight in the middle of London, I guess I'm stuck with them, aren't I."

"I mean… the warehouse…"

"Oh…" he puts down the spoon and unwraps the straw from its paper lining. "Mmm… I don't go there to have sex. I just… like pot."

I snort, "But don't you think that these muggles are… beneath you?"

"Jamessss… Potter…" he drawls, "Just because I was sorted into Slyterin, it doesn't mean I don't like guys."

"Wha?"

"I mean… shit… what did I just say?" I chuckle. "It doesn't mean I hate muggles. I love their rock and greasy burgers. But… I just don't think… they should involve themselves in _our_ world, yeah? We should leave each other alone. It's better that way."

"Why?"

Severus just stares at me. His eyes are far away. I hear his stomach gurgle, "I'm hungry."

"Seriously. Why, Snape? We've always been at least a little bit dependent on each other. And of course our bloodlines should cross, wouldn't we die out, anyway? This mudblood business sounds just racist to me, doesn't it to you?"

"Because we'll kill each other if there's any sort of interaction."

"This is the twentieth century, Snape. I hardly think we should be afraid of witch-burnings."

"If it's not witch-burning, it will be something else," there's fire in his eyes now. He's with me; he's here. "Wizards have magical power. Human beings are naturally drawn to power. Muggles, if given the chance, will destroy everything you and I hold dear just to get a glimpse of that power. They'd abuse it."

"They'd abuse it the same way you and I abuse it, Severus."

"No," he shakes his head, folds his legs, and stares out the window. "No, it's different. It was never theirs to begin with."

If I was raised differently, I might have believed him then. I start to understand how the Dark Lord gathers followers. He hides behind popular wisdom. This was to be the "war to end all wars."

The waitress is handing us our cheesy fries. "My mind concedes but my heart denies it," I look him in the eyes, a smile playing on my face. He gives me a half grin and picks at a lone fry on the side of the plate.

We inhale the dollops of grease and cheese, I pay too much attention to how he licks the grease off his fingers. I eye his chocolate shake with envy, "Can I try some?"

"Sure," he says again, and hands me the cup. Again I feel like this exchange means a lot more than it seems.

I'm sucking his straw. My mouth is where his mouth just was. I can taste his saliva. A rush of chocolate ice cream. His black eyes are on me the whole time as I lick my lips. "Good?" he asks, his eyes are dilated. Shit, Lily told me once that when guys' pupils are dilated they're interested.

I should have been disgusted, but I wasn't.

"It's good," I say. The sweetness is still on my tongue, "Really good, actually."

"Told you," he says, taking the straw into his mouth and sucking lightly, those dilated cat eyes on me the whole time.

This could get messy.

I look away.

I wipe my hands on a napkin and attempt at small talk again. "So, how often do you go there?"

"What?"

"To the warehouse, I mean."

"Uh…" He tosses is head back and forth. "Like… once a month. Depends on the month." He sips at his shake. "I've never seen you there before."

"Never been there before tonight."

"Oh."

The waitress brings us our food and we awkwardly make it through the meal. The burger didn't disappoint. We eat the food within five minutes after the plates were set down. We ask for separate checks. Severus fumbles with his wallet.

It isn't until we're outside on the sidewalk till we stare at each other, not really ready to leave. I stare at my trainers, shifting my weight.

"So…" Snape begins.

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

For a moment, I'm so scared he'll say no that I forget Sirius and Lily and everyone else in the world except Snape and me.

"I'd like that, actually," he burries his hands in his pockets. "These streets can be…"

"Sketchy?" I offer.

"Yeah… sketchy's a good verb… adverb…"

"Adjective."

"Yeah, a good word."

I loop my arm around his. We walk and talk about random philosophy and muggles fascination with rock and the constellations until we're at the door of his little shack, on a side cobblestone street. "Here I am," he says, pulling out his key. "Spinner's End."

I whisper into the cool night air, now nipping at my fingers, even through the fabric of my jeans, "So… will I see you at the warehouse next Friday?"

Snape's black eyes look apologetic. He leans behind the door. "No… probably not…"

Rejection becomes a lump in my throat. I turn, disappointedly, and begin to walk back whence I came.

"But…"

His voice stops me.

"I work at the Mill, on Tuesdays."

My insides have been lit with a fire I don't understand yet. "Where?"

"See it? Right up the street," He points toward a chimney of what must have once been a mill that hangs like cloud over the avenue.

"Oh," I smile. "Okay."

He hangs onto the door handle, smiling, "Night, James."

"Night…"

Only after I've apparated miles away do I realize that that was the first time I've heard him call me 'James'.

A/N: As always, reviews will be rewarded with a sugary substance of their choice in heaven.


	2. Chapter 2: The Mill

**I like replying to reviews the old fashioned way. Just because, I said so:**

**ClementineTangerine**- You know what makes _me _full of happy? Clementines. And Tangerines. And eating both of them at the same time. Thanks for the review.

**Euripides**- Wow, thanks! I hope you like this chapter as much as the last one. This is going to be as canon compliant as I can make it, to answer your question. I wasn't planning an AU or 'what-if' story (but I tend to think they're going to 'end up together' anyway, it's just not going to be a happy ending- Ss/Jp's hard like that). I'm glad you enjoyed the restaurant scene as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for such a thorough review!

**What?**- I. Don't. Know. Nuh-uh, _you're_ way cool :).

**Pikaf-** Hey, hey, hey! What do you know? You're getting to be my most frequent reviewer :). I appreciate your support. You know who else is some kind of cool? You.

**MistressCoCoLo****VeR**- You know. I'm glad you say that. It's tough to make James/Severus fics and have them act naturally. I guess I just had to stick them in a drug fest to do it Oo.

**ladynarutochan-** Well, since you asked for more so nicely, here you go.is a sucker for pup eyes

**Excessivelyperky- **Let showers of dark chocolate rain down from the sky onto your lovely and wonderful head. Thank you for such a detailed review. I'm glad you picked up on my effort to avoid clichés.

CHAPTER TWO: THE MILL

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My entire weekend is full of clock-staring. My mother threatens to bop me on the head with a frying pan if I check my watch at the dinner table again. Empty threat. Sunday dinner is full of questions about Lily, which I don't answer, and taunts from Sirius, which just annoy me.

I keep on thinking about Tuesday, Snape, and the Mill. I've always been an impatient person; I hate waiting. Time craws when I am waiting. Even in school I used to fidget and whimper for the end of class. Some people spend their entire lives waiting… waiting for five o'clock when the can go home from work, waiting for the weekend, waiting to have children, to get older… waiting to die. I could never spend my life waiting, feeling so angry, impatient and empty…

These past few days have been the longest I have ever had to endure. Even when I go to sleep, I dream about Snape. His derisive laugh echoes throughout my head and he tells me to never see him again.

I try not to think about Lily at all. She hasn't given me an answer yet, and if she won't be thinking about me I won't be thinking about her. It's much easier to not think about her than I thought it would be, especially as I apparate to Spinner's End after work.

It's a tame sort of place, much more than I expected. A woman in the corner is singing on her guitar, a soft, calm version of _I Get a Kick Out of You_. Sharp, crystal glasses filled with scotch and zambuka are clutched in the meaty hands of suit-wearing muggles. There are no tapestries here, no buddhas or drugs. Just a few nude portraits and pictures of swans, just a television with the local news, just the tops popping off of various forms of alcohol…

The brown-hair buck-teethed woman sings her rendition, strumming a guitar that has seen better days:

"_I get no kick from champagne,_

_ Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all_

_ So tell me why should it be true_

_ That baby, I get a kick out of you?"_

I watch as one gentleman is poured a glass of expensive-looking red wine. He swirls the glass, studying the robe carefully, sniffs it with a French nose, and takes the smallest, immeasurable sip. He then nods to the bartender, who stalks off to help other customers.

I realize then that it's Severus.

If I thought he looked good last Friday… it was nothing compared to this. The sweaty, ragged black clothes have been replaced by a white shirt and black apron. He holds his back straight, the air of the most professional of bartenders.

I take a seat at the bar. He's mixing something else now. A bloody mary for the woman in green. This job seems to suit him, just as potions always suited him… his hands are gentle but quick on the glass, his selection perfected by his critical eye, his slightly upturned Roman nose, his expressionless mouth. He moves with the grace of an unnoticed alley cat. He wipes the dirtied glass on his extra rag, white fingers swift, and he puts it off to the side.

He's almost nothing like the other day. Hansom, regal features of a civilized man compared to the wheezing, laughing, debauched smoker from the other day.

"_Some they may go for cocaine,_

_ I'm sure if I took even one sniff_

_ It would bore me terrifically too._

_ But baby, I get a kick out of you."_

I smile into the crystal ashtray, and decide to say loudly, "How about a bourbon?"

Severus, who had been aligning shot glasses, his pale frame tip-toe on a stool, looks up.

I smile nervously. Perhaps he won't care that we had a late dinner, cheesy fries and milkshakes together last week. Perhaps he still hates me. Perhaps he didn't remember anything.

"Plain bourbon?" he asks.

"Please." I say this with the quietness and intensity of a rabbit that wants a carrot.

He slowly steps down off of the stool, "How about Old Kentucky bourbon?" He takes out an ugly bottle, pours into a glass, and slides it down the table like in all of the old westerns I've seen. "Strong stuff. I'm beginning to think that you have quite a fascination with Americans…"

I smile, at least now he's acknowledged that he knows me personally. "Sure, but you're the one that likes 'burgers and 'shakes."

_"I get a kick every time I see you _

_ Standing there, before me._

_ I get a kick, though it's clear to see,_

_ You obviously do not adore me."_

He rolls his eyes at me, pours another man a refill of Guiness on tap, and then slumps against the bar. "That's only when I'm…" he rolls his eyes to the other people in the bar, and grins. "But anyway, how are you, Potter? Still chasing after Sirius and his husband?"

"Husband?" My eyebrows pinch. "I… no. Actually. I…" I cough awkwardly. "I actually found out something about him the other day." My eyes focus on the tip of his black tie, mostly hidden by the apron, and the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"And?"

"Well… you were…" The James Potter in me refuses to let myself say ' you were right' but the man in me says, "He came out. To me, anyway."

"Oh really?" He leans one elbow on the bar and his fist beneath his chin. "Was it… Unexpected?"

"It might have been," I swallow some of the stale drink. "Had you not said anything… before… about the blond. Turns out the blond _was_ a guy."

"Glad I could be of service. Any time you need the assistance of my gayocity radar let me know. Though I think Remus likes…"

I had been burning down some of the foul liquid, when I felt it gag in my throat. I couldn't help bursting with spit in surprise, luckily it missed Snape by a few feet away. "_Remus?_"

He winks, and glides away to the next customer. He gives me secretive grins from across the bar as he shakes and pours his martini.

"_I get no kick on a plane_

_ Flying too high with some guy in the sky_

_is my idea of nothing to do._

_ But I get a kick, baby I get a kick out of you!"_

"When's your next break?" I ask him. For a moment he is so immersed in the apple martini that I think he's ignoring me. I'm surprised that this annoys me as much as it does.

"I get off in twenty minutes," he says.

"Want to get something to eat?"

"Sounds good."

He looks busy- everyone at the bar either wants a drink or a refill. He makes three new martinis and discusses the wine list with an wrinkled lady with too much jewelry on. He reaches by me and whispers, "Wait for me, will you? I have to wait for the other bartender to come in…" I nod, and begin to amuse myself by playing tic-tac-toe with spare peanuts and mints.

Finally, minutes later a young blond woman is taking his apron, and giving me an upturned eyebrow. _She must think I'm going out with him_¸ I think to myself. But I feel no need whatsoever to correct her.

"So, Prince James, where do you want to eat?"

"Prince?"

"I'm joking with you, idiot."

"Are you calling me spoiled or something?"

"Do shut up and pick a restaurant."

_We're bickering_! "Em… I don't know what's around here."

"Well," he explains, "there's a little shack near the river that sells the best fish-and-chips you will ever have in your life. Em… there are a few Indian places… if you still want an American kick there's a steakhouse…"

"Or we could just go to my place."

The awkwardness that arose from that sentence could be read just from his eyes.

I suddenly feel the urge to clarify, "And I could have my parents cook for you."

"You live with your _parents?_ Still?"

I bristle, though someone my age not being out of the house is not common. "It's not like _that_. I don't have my mother serve me cheese sandwiches on a silver platter all the time. My parents are getting old. They need taking care of. My mother has a bad hip and my father forgets things all the time," I explain.

"Oh…" Severus's judgment was withheld. He was looking at me as though I had grown a whole new dimension. "I'm sorry…"

"How about something Italian? Pasta? Wine?"

"James, you _are_ a Prince."

"I want pasta."

"Well, fine," says Snape. "But there are mostly high prices…"

"Don't worry."

"Well, er… how about Manjano's? It's my favorite. I'll take you there."

We set off. Severus dragged me on something called a subway… a sort of metal train that goes underground. I bat at the metal handle hanging from the ceiling like a cat at a yarn ball and then stumble backwards when the train starts to move. He laughs at me, grabbing me round the middle with one arm so that I don't fall into some poor old muggle and her knitting. We stand like that for a moment. Warmth radiates off of my cheeks, his wide shoulders and chest are pressed against my back. I can feel his pounding heart beating between my shoulder blades, his single bony arm around me. He whispers somewhere by my right check, his unnaturally minty breath on my stubbly chin, "Already sloshed after just one bourbon, Potter? And here I thought you'd be good at drinking."

I grab at a metal-thing and dangle off of it, like he had been. "Mm not sloshed. I'm just not used to this. Are we supposed to be sitting down?"

"Sure you can… but you don't have to."

"No… no… sheet pelts on these, then?"

"No seat belts, No. Doesn't really go fast enough. And accidents are really rare, so…" He shrugs towards the windows, where a concrete tunnel is whisking by like a never-ending ring of smoke.

"Seat belts. Right," I smile at him. "Trying to catch up on muggle-speak. Lily's family hasn't taken a liking to me, actually. They think I'm a bit odd."

Severus stiffens at the sound of Lily Evan's name. His face remains the same, but his heels click together like a soldier at boot camp, and suddenly he is standing a little more straight, nose in the air. "'Tis to be expected," he mumbles, "you _are_ a bit odd." He swings on the metal a bit. "Bet it's tough like a pureblood like you to relate to them. It's hard to understand it all. This world is so…so..." He leans in to me, whispering conspiratorially so that the granny next to him won't overhear. "Most wizards think that muggles are so simpleminded and innocent and naïve… but they're really complicated. Always somethin' to do. Always in a rush. Some of them are even more judgmental than Barty Crouch. More dangerous than Grindewald. Some are…" but he stops and shakes his head, apparently trying not to be rude.

"Go on," I say.

"I know this is a horrible think to say… but I've really come to believe… James, _Muggles-don't-like-magic_!" Severus eyes gleam in their Cheshire-cat way. "They just _don't_ _like_ it. They _hate_ the idea of someone waving a stick and lifting a gigantic stone out of the ground. It's like they find it insulting. Especially the older ones- of course they find you odd, James. I mean you're a full-blown wizard and all…"

"_Lily's_ a full-blown witch," I say indignantly.

"Yes… y-yes but…" Severus stutters ashamedly, apparently realizing that he was being prejudiced. "I'm sure she tones it done a bit when she's home."

I know this is a cover-up, but I change the subject all the same. "I get what you're saying, though. Lily's little sister, Petunia… her mum told me that when Lily got her letter and Petunia didn't, Petunia cried for days and days. 'Why can't I be a witch too? Aren't I good enough?' Well... She won't even talk to Lily now. Quite bitter about magic. I suppose being told fairy tales about witches and wizards and fairies and dragons as a child, and then being told that it's all not real, is quite tough to handle."

Severus opens his mouth to reply, but a shrilly female voice rings, "I fink you've hit the nail on the head, dear." The old lady, who had now looked up from her knitting, is staring warmly up at the two of us. "Issnot that bitterness is _bred_ into muggles. It's that damn Statute of Secrecy fing that's had England up in a rage for four-hundred years. You know, in the Second World War ministry of magic people were running around oblivaten everyfin' in sight. I says te them, I says, 'Put out some fires fer crying out loud! We're about to be invaded and yer worried about Amanda Shunpike who was carrying a wand around?'"

"They didn't…" says Severus in shock.

"They did," the old woman says. "It's rubbish. All o' it. You make a lovely couple," And she stalks off of the platform.

Severus and I share a brief glance. _Couple_? I wonder to myself.

"Dotty, that one," Severus grins.

I grin back.

"Next stop," he says, predicting my question before I even ask it. We talk about the Statute of Secrecy for a few more minutes until we have to stop because there is a large party of muggles coming onto the train. It would seem that Severus continues to find muggles irritable, annoying, untrustworthy, greedy creatures. I wonder aloud why he has such an animosity towards muggles. He shrugs at me.

His black curtain of hair envelopes his face, and for a moment he looks as sad and as sweet as a cat left out in the rain. "Bad experiences, I guess."

He turns from me, his white shirt sticking to his shoulders. Suddenly I feel like I have super powers, powers to make time go slower. He fans his hair and I catch sight of every single feather strand as it rises and falls. The slight trickle of sweat at his temple, it drips all the way down to his chin, and for some reason I have the strange, resolute urge to lick it off… I painfully watch as the seconds turn into hours as that little drop falls. Severus wipes his forehead.

"Hang on," I say to him. "Wasn't your father a muggle?"

He looks at me, eyelids drooping. "Y-yes. I… well. My mom was a great witch. I was born out of wedlock. Then my grandfather- bless him, I don't remember him at all- put his wand to my father's head and told him if he didn't marry his daughter he would turn him into a newt for the rest of his life. They married, but I don't think that they were very happy together. My father insisted that she shouldn't use magic, and that I should be taught 'rubbish like that' until I went to Hogwarts. My mum taught me potions secretly, though. My mom nagged my father horribly…"

"Are they divorced now?" I ask tentatively. "Your parents?"

"No. They're still married. Out of habit, I think." Snape sighs. "My dad doesn't really like magic. My grandparents on his side don't talk to me." The left side of his neck is now deliciously exposed, his smooth Adam's apple quivering. He whispers, "Strange, isn't it? Your parents are far too old and mine were far too young…"

I grasp his shoulder lightly, trying to keep my balance as I did so. "Bet it was tough, as a kid, I mean…"

"No, my dad… he's a good guy. He just… doesn't understand me. He was forced into his situation. I guess that's why I think muggles and wizards shouldn't interfere with each other, as it's not really fair to any of us, and nothing good comes out of it…"

"But…" I sputter. "But your mother and father had _you_… so there _is_ something good that came out of it."

Snape stares at me suddenly, as if he had never even thought of it that way. Then, his eyes start to glitter strangely. And I realize then that I just gave Snape, in some lame form, a complement. This tiny little boost in esteem changes his features. His slumping shoulders stand straight, as if a giant weight had been lifted. His pupils continue to twinkle in a so-Dumbledorian way. He is no longer screwing up his face in disgust or disdain or worry or pain or loneliness… in fact there's the beginning of a smile on his lips. _Oh dear,_ I worry, _I've said something _sweet!

Had nobody told him that he was a good lad? No one told him that he was worth it? And, my imagination strays, even (besides the tight-lipped whisperings from his mother as a child) that they loved him? The difference in his face was startling.

He's now more handsome than his bartender-self, more at peace with the world than when he was smoking dope in the rooftops of London. His face shown with silent appreciation and thanks, but apparently I've rendered him speechless.

"It's all right," I mutter, "Don't let it go to your head."

I secretively, tenderly, cautiously, gracefully rest my arm around his shoulders. Thankfully, he doesn't tense up at this gesture. In fact, my arm seems to belong there, like the sweat on his neck. I breath. Slowly, one by one, first my thumb, then my first finger, my hand grasps his shoulder.

There's a bloke a few seats back giving me a _very_ nasty stare.

Severus doesn't push me away, but he grabs my hand in his and pulls it away from his shoulder. My arm is rapped around his neck like a very expensive fur scarf.

This close proximity dies when the subway pulls to a stop.


	3. Chapter 3: Mimbly's Manjano

**Lost**- Together, we have converted someone! Huzzah! Thank you very much!

**She-Elf**- Ah, thanks! I'm glad you are enjoying it!

And, what do you mean? I don't make mestakes.

Mmm. You know what I need? I need a proofreading house-elf. Cause no matter how many times I read stuff there's always something that I catch later like that. And every time I sigh and say, "Ah boo." Maybe I can get him to make me soup, too…

**Jynx'sbox**- Your surprised-ness surprised me. But pleasantly so. No, you're not bad at posting reviews. You posed an excellent question.

As pertaining to Deathly Hallows, scroll down to find my answers.

**Euripid****es**- Blushes I haven't been this complemented since Madam Pomphrey told me I had nice earmuffs. I'm glad you have inspiration! It _is_ an infectious thing, isn't it? (Cough JK Rowling)

**Die666**- Doh! Here they are again! The puppy-dog eyes! Shall I never escape the wrath of the cute?

**A.C. Mathur**- Thanks, I found the quote entertaining to write. I've always thought that young Severus is much easier to provoke and to engage than Professor-hide-everything-in-a-black-pit-of-despair-Snape. Thanks for the reviews; they're very encouraging.

**Isa-** You just talked about three of my favorite things to write about. Funny how that works, isn't it?

Style? What style? Me? Style? I just wear what's in my closet.

**Pikaf­-** Oh, wow! I hope you have (or have had) a great time in London! I don't know about Spinner's End, having never been there. I just live in a small city so I know a little bit about that lifestyle. I'm just a silly American.

**Fred**- Aw, really? Gee thanks.

**LastExit- **You know what? Seeing your review gave _me_ butterflies in _my _stomach. Are yours purple too?

Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews. They make quite a wonderful read. And to answer Jynx'sbox question:

* * *

**W A R N I N G**

**DH **

**SPOILERS**… kinda

_Yes. I adored it. _

_I loved (.Adored.) chapter thirty-three. I will try to make the fic as cannon as  
possible. I will work with the loopholes, but I might be tearing my hair out to  
work around stuff. We will see. _

_This pertains to Tragic, too, to whoever is reading that too._

_Ha! I was right about Petunia. You are all my witnesses.  
_

I had this chapter pretty much written before DH. And then I had to go back and change things. Oh well.

PHEW! It's ok you can come out now.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: MIMBLY'S MANJANO 

Please do not use magic at the bar.

Thank you,

Manjano's Staff.

A variety of witches and wizards are sitting with their lime-green, magenta and turquoise robes at a large wooden bar. A small statue of Ulric the Oddball keeps on snapping his fingers and winking at people. The bartender is a strange man, who looks somewhat like a spider in a tuxedo. He has eight arms, all of which has five fingers with uncut fingernails, which are doing an assortment of things, two of them shaking up a mixer, one pouring a firewhiskey, and yet another taking the money from a startled witch. The man has a balding head, and a long blond beard that reaches the floor. One of the arms heartily waves to Severus as he walks in. He waves back.

"That's Mimblus Thatcher, the owner. I call him Mimbly. He had a horrible accident a few years back, something with a cat and a transfiguration spell… I wanted to work here but as you can see he has no need for a bartender so…" Severus shrugs.

Behind Mimblus Thatcher's magical eight-arms are paintings with dancing mice, who are playing what looks like a giant game of ring-around-the-rosie. Bottles of glowing liquid surround Mimbly. One the bottles seem to be red and pulsating slightly. A vampire is being poured some of it as Mimbly adds a decorative umbrella with yet another hand.

The presence of all of this magic makes me feel much more at ease. The smell of tomato sauce and wine fills my nostrils. We are about to sit at a purple-velvet booth when a dirty man, with a long, gray beard grabs my arm and leers. His blue eyes bore into mine. "Ah… Aberforth!" I squeak suddenly. "Severus, this is Aberforth Dumbledore."

"The headmasters brother? Pleased to meet you."

Aberforth nods dimwittedly, and smiles showing many gold and silver teeth. His eyes are very similar to Dumbledore's, but his nose is straight and long and his breath smells of dead rats.

"Lily?"

Aberforth communicates somewhat like a troll to me. His one-word growl earns a shake of my head. "No-ooo. She's not here. Severus here was just showing me around town. I've never been here before," I explain.

Severus nods feverishly. But Aberforth continues to leer at Snape and finally says, "Moody?"

"Huh? No, I'm not feeling particularly moody at the moment," says Severus.

"Mad-eye."

"Oh, right, Alastor Moody of the Auror department. What about him?" I ask.

He points.

We both turn, and indeed there is a resounding _clunk_ next to Snape. Alastor Moody's appearance comes as a bit of a shock at first. Severus' eyes are as wide as galleons. Moody places a hand on Severus' shoulder, "So nice to see you again, lads." His normal eye is on me, and his magical one remains fixedly on Severus, who is blushing nervously. Aberforth grins closed-mouthed.

"Severus, this is Alastor Moody. Moody, this is Severus Sn…"

Moody growls, "We've met."

Snape is as white as a sheet.

"Ah! Severus! James! How are you?" Suddenly the welcoming handsome features of Albus Dumbledore are in view. He's wearing lavender robes and a grim-free smile. "We were just discussing some Order business. How about you two join us? Drinks on me." You really can't say no to such a kind, old man.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Albus," growls Moody, his grip on Snape's shoulder is uncanny.

"Nonsense, Alastor. James and Severus are my students and I want to know how they're doing in the… what's the phrase? The 'real' world."

I laugh. Severus is still squeamish under Moody's magical gaze.

"Drinks?" asks Aberforth in his troll-like way.

"Good idea, Aberforth. Why don't we share a bottle of some of that elf-made wine? 1812. Is that good for everyone?" Aberforth grins. Moody grunts. I nod.

"That's awfully expensive, Headmaster," says Severus.

Albus smiles, his half-moon spectacles glittering in the lamplight. "Perhaps when you are older, you will understand what a pleasure it is to buy a young man drinks and give him your advice." He wraps his arm around his shoulder and steers him towards a checkered-cloth-covered table, pushing Moody's pincer-like grip off of him. Snape is looking slightly green, as if the night that he had planned is completely going haywire. Aberforth grunts to Mimbly, and Moody and I follow the Headmaster and Snape to a table separate from the main room.

But someone is already sitting at the small table, eating a meager portion of spaghetti. Remus Lupin is twirling pasta around on his fork. When he looks up, I shiver as his eyes travel to me and slowly to Snape.

"Hi!" I say, a little to over-exuberantly.

"Hello," he says, sounding like a bay-hound rather than a human.

"What are you doing he…" we both say at once.

"Albus wanted to know how my unemployment was going," Remus says miserably. I already know. Not well. Remus can barely get a job as a waiter. Wizards are prejudiced against werewolves, and muggles don't understand why he has to spend so much time off. He is now working as a garbage boy, unless of course he has lost that job already.

"Well, Snape and I…"

"Excuse me?" Remus cuts me off.

"Snape and I were just…"

"Sorry… can't seem to understand you… say that again…"

"_Snape_ and _I_…" I grit my teeth.

Moony looks at me, and then at Severus, and then at me. "What are you on about? Are you jinxed?"

"Wha- I… No! I'm not bewitched," I tell him indignantly. Why is he looking at me like that? Like I've misbehaved…

"Ah," says Moony. "Are _you_ bewitched?" He asks Severus.

Severus splays his fingers on his chest and smoothes his tie, as if a bewitchment would be apparent on his shirt. "N-no, I don't think s-so."

Remus looks to the ceiling, rolling his eyes up to the heavens, shakes his head and mutters, "The world has gone mad." He then stabs a meatball.

Severus takes a seat next to Remus, somewhat uncomfortably. I sit across from him. Moody has taken out his magical eye and put it in a glass of water. I pretend to be fixated on it.

"SowutddiggadouwetSnape?" asks Remus with his mouth full.

"Speak English," I say.

He swallows. "So what were you going to say? 'Snape and I were just' what?"

"Oh. We were just…" I hesitate, staring at a fascinating painting of a forever-changing boggart. "Em… getting a bite to eat."

"Getting a bite to eat?" Remus echoes. But his meaning is totally different. I've known my friend for a long time and he doesn't normally repeat things annoyingly unless there's some judgment passing through his mind. I can see the question of _as a date? A bite to eat… and then what?_

This is very bad. Sirius has just come out to me, he probably hasn't told Remus, and now I know why. I feel it in his look. I'm _not_ gay but if I was… that part of me would shrivel up like a dead flower at the look on his face.

"And where's _Lily_?" He sounds angry. Maybe he's angry on Lily's behalf. They _are_ friends…

"Not… here?" I say questioningly.

Remus rubs his temple in a very Remusian way. "You know you should spend some time with her. She _is _your fiancé, you know."

"No she's not," I snort. "She only is if she says 'yes' and she hasn't… so…"

"I actually think it would be better for them to spend some time apart," says Severus suddenly.

Remus blanches, "What?"

"Because… because… you know, marriage is a big deal… and you shouldn't rush these things. I think Lily didn't say yes right away because she's not ready to be with one person for the rest of her life."

I stare at him. He's so brilliant. Remus frowns.

"I didn't ask you," Remus growls. "And even if I did. If Lily wanted to see other people why didn't she just break up with James?"

Snape gives Moony a pitying gaze, "Because she probably still wants to be with him. She doesn't want to break his heart either."

"I really don't think you have the measure of Lily at all."

"I have a better measure of Lily Evans than you might think," Snape says cooly. He sips the wine that was just poured by Aberforth. "We were friends at school. I respected her." I stare at the cuffs of his sleeve without really seeing them.

"You reckon she's cheating on me?" I whisper, a little horrified, but not as appalled as how Remus looks.

"No! No…" He shakes his head. "I didn't say that. I just think she needs time," He give me a light, comforting tap on the arm from across the table, "and space."

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by Remus' and he glares at Snape's intruding hand. One eyetooth is poking his lip in a threatening way. He opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by Dumbledore's cough.

"Boys," says the headmaster, "A toast."

I raise my glass clumsily spilling some on the checkered tablecloth. Remus wipes his mouth hastily and lifts his glass. Moody lifts his hipflask and Aberforth has his own shot glass of what looks like whisky.

"May the magical world remain hidden and prosperous. May the students at Hogwarts continue to learn," he nods at Remus, "to invent" he, for some reason, nods at Severus, "and to make a lot of mischief and mayhem as always." I know he's about to nod at me before he does, and I snort. "And may we all randomly meet as often as possible."

"Here," says Aberforth. I don't know if he meant "Here, here!" or just "may we meet often _here_."

"Aye," says Moody, "and may all the little 'uns be safe at that school of yours."

Remus smiles, "Yes. To opportunity!" He lifts his glass, apparently forgetting to be suspicions for Snape at all of this merriment.

"To friendship!" I bellow, a little more loudly than I intend.

"Severus, would you like to say something?" asks Albus fondly.

My head whirls around to Snape, whose face slackens a bit in shock. He quickly composes himself, tightening his spine and scooting himself forward on his chair. His eyes meet mine; at once I am sucked into inky blackness. "To Freedom," he says. The rest of the Order members whisper "to freedom" and drain their glasses at this. The wine is bitter; it burns the back of my throat. I was never one for red wine.

Albus licks his lips and clasps his wrinkled hands together, "So, Severus. What have you been up to?"

Apparently everyone at the table has been wanting to ask this question. Aberforth, Remus and Moody seem to huddle together as they stare him down.

"Um…" he says, eyeing the crowd from across the table. "Nothing really."

"Now Severus, really, if you were doing nothing you'd be dead."

"Em… just a few odd jobs, here and there. I bartend," he seem to ad this as an afterthought. "I tried to get into the potion's research section of the ministry, but I was told I wasn't qualified." Moody snorted, as if _he_ thought Severus should never be allowed in the ministry.

"You are still very young, of course. Have you thought about becoming an apprentice to Slughorn?"

Snape mumbles something indiscreet, though I think I've caught the words "liked Lily better" and "not his favorite".

"Ah," Albus nods. "But what of the rumor that his reached my ears about your unlikely alias of 'Professor Solomon'?"

Severus blushes crimson, taken aback but smiling. Apparently he didn't expect that. "Oh, ho! You've heard about my little…um… potion shop." Was he shaking from nerves?

Albus raises a white eyebrow, "Shop? Really? I was under the impression that you were brewing potions in your basement..."

"Oh… well… yes… but it is a very _large_ basement…"

Moody is now glaring at him with his one normal eye and his gruesome, gapping hole that had once been his other eye. Even the revolving blue eye in his glass is staring at him. I know that Snape has few scruples, but to be looked at like this, like an ex-con or dark wizard… It unnerves me as I see a list of suspicions forming behind Moody's one real eye. "Not brewing anything _illegal _are you, _Snape_?"

He slides towards Dumbledore slightly.

"No, nothing like that. Unless," he ran a finger along the tip of the crystal glass, it rang as he slid his wet finger in circles, "unless of course you count… I gave a muggle child a potion for her mother. She was ill…"

Albus beamed. Moody seemed unconvinced.

"No… draught of living dead? No veritaserum?"

He squirmed as the glass he was playing made a sharp note.

"No felix felicis?"

"I neither possess the talent nor the means to procure a luck potion."

Somehow I remember this name, somewhere in the past. Lily had told me about it… a golden potion that she had won from Slughorn. Of course it would have been hard for him to make it but there is nothing in his poker face that tells me he was either telling the truth _or_ lying.

"I'm helping people," says Snape flatly. "Old witches come to my place for blood-replenishing potions when they can't make them themselves. Poison drinkers come begging for an antidote, children sick with the flu… I make potions."

"Not poisons?" Moody growls.

"Well…" I'm astonished when I see a trickle of sweat run down his neck. It contrasts against his stoic face. "Anything can be a poison if not taken in moderation, Moody, the primary example," he raises his glass of elf-made wine.

I grin, pulling the focus on myself and off of poor Snape, "That's a strange way of thinking about it," I say, and I hastily change the subject, "Do you ever dabble in muggle medicine?"

"Er…" Snape raises an eyebrow at this abrupt, irrelevant subject, "…n-no…"

I sort of think this is a lie… he _did _go to the Warehouse after all. I'm pretty sure you could call that 'muggle medicine', can't you? I quickly change tact, "What about… em…that-that thing… chemustray, kamistry, keh…"

"Oh…" Severus mouth twitches upwards, "Chemistry?"

"Yes! That's the one. Lily was telling me about it… H-three-oh."

"H2O?"

"Oo! What's that, some kind of muggle poison?"

"It's water."

The other three men chuckle into their glasses.

"Ah, James," said Albus, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "There's simply not enough mischief at Hogwarts without you. What are you up to these days? Or are you simply living off of your inheritance, like your father did?"

"Em… no," I blush a little, relieved that we've gotten off the dangerous topic of Snape' basement. "Well…"

I explain to all of them the quirky business that is my employment. I haven't yet secured a spot in the Auror department. "Too young" and "too eager" they call me. It's a load of tosh, really. I passed the exam with far better results that Frank Longbottom. But for some reason, despite my good grades, Moody's referral, my talent and my previous brushes with dark wizards, I have yet to win a desk in the ministry of magic.

"They didn't give you a reason?" Snape interjects, "At all?"

"Not really. They just said I was too young, like I told you."

"That is troublesome," Albus strokes his beard.

"Bastards," says Aberforth.

"Emmmmm…" Moody takes a long drag from his hipflask. "What did you say in the interview? Did anything… shock them?"

I stare at him.

"The thing is, lad… this guy named Rookwood has taken to doing interviews lately, from the department of mysteries. Nice bloke, but, somewhat odd. He's preoccupied with blood purity lately…"

"But I'm pureblood! I'm a descendent of the Peverells!"

"Are you really?" Albus asked, perking up quite unnecessarily.

"Well… yes… but did you mention anything… about… muggles?"

"I told them I would bring muggles to safety rather than obliviate them. I told them…" And I realize then. I sound so stupid to my own ears now. "I told them I would rather not obliviate them if I could help it."

Everyone at the table seems to let out a little sigh. Moody shakes his head slightly and pops his eye back in. Severus is staring at me with a strange mixture of exasperation and respect, much like how one would look at a dare devil or a professional cage fighter.

"Was I wrong?" I whimper.

"No."

Oddly enough, it's Aberforth who's answering me. For the first time he is speaking in long, clear sentences. I'm in so much shock I can barely understand him. "Muggles need to understand things too. They need to know."

Frankly, I have no idea what he's on about. Strange bloke.

Albus gives a drawn out sigh. He pats his brother on the shoulder; a thick velvety sleeve rubs against a leather jacket. He pours Severus more wine. "And… so you're unemployed, then?"

"Well… sort of… you see I've had myself registered with the department, and I've taken the oath. If their ever in a spot they'd yell for me… but in the meantime all I do is try to catch death-eaters and get people out of trouble…"

"You're a bounty-hunter?" Snape voice raises several notches and a smile has split his face.

I smile back. I whisper, "I've never really thought of it that way. That makes me out to be some kind-of hero in a western film."

Suddenly I see the image of myself strolling into a pair of wooden doors, leather boots, a ten-gallon hat, sitting at the bar and ordering bourbon. I'm wearing wire-rimmed specs and there's dust in my hair and my voice. One look in Severus' eyes and I can tell that's exactly what he was imagining too. We both grin and turn away quickly.

"Perhaps you are, I don't know…"

Severus really is a romantic- he speaks of heroes and helping old ladies, of equality and world order, of a war to end all wars and "unconventional love."

I don't understand why I ever thought he was dark.

"Well boys," Albus conjectures abruptly. "We'd better be off. Far past _my_ bedtime… are you coming? Moody? Remus?"

The old man lifts his beard along with pounds of extra purple fabric. "Good to speak with you both," He passes his wrinkly hand to me, then to Severus. "Stay out of trouble, both of you, and enjoy your meal." He leans in close to us so that the rest cannot hear, "And… I _am_ glad that you so enjoy each other's company. Goodness knows people change, don't they?"

A grin, and a swirl of cloak, and he's gone.

A thick silence falls on the two of us. Severus plays with his napkin in his lap, and I wave as our strange greeting party leaves. Remus glances at me from over his shoulder, and the suspiciousness is back in an instant. He frowns so that his lips look like a frog as he is steered out of the door.

Four empty chairs sit across and between us. The noise that had filled the bar has passed like a thundercloud. We meet each other's eyes, but look away quickly. The silence can only be described as awkward.

Severus stands abruptly, "I'll be right back. I'm going to see if Mimbly will give us some food…"

"Spagetti and meatballs?"

"Right…"

He wandered over to the bar. My stomach squirmed as if it had been filled with dead flobberworms. Mimbly shakes his head. I can hear him over the low rumble of the crowd. "Kitchen's closed. Been closed for twenty minutes." Severus looks absolutely crestfallen. If he had a tail and whiskers they would be drooping. He had wanted to take me here for the food, after all, not to be run into by Albus, Aberforth, Moody and Remus. His dark eyes and long face fall on me. "Can't you just whip us something up? Please?"

"Nope. Sorry, son. All of the chefs have gone home. And even though I have eight hands, none of them are any good at cooking."

"Right…" Severus mutters.

"It's ok, we'll just go someplace else, that's all," I tell him.


	4. Chapter 4: Gerado's Gay Bar

**Isabelle Adamowitz**- James is smitten like a kitten. The cat metaphors… yeah… they never stop. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**A.C. Mathur**- Keehaaa… "Mimbledom"… like fandom but more mimbly… hearts u…

**She-Elf**- I love the Moony-PMSing jokes. I've seen it a billion times and it never fails to make me laugh. For all intents and purposes… Yes. He was PMSing (gibbous moon).

I really, really, _really, really, really_ try to get things out monthly. I make no promises though. I try to be timely, but I want the chapters to be _good_ so I always wait for better ideas to come and you know how life gets in the way.

**Melkor-the-Morgoth**- Wow! I'm so glad I've impressed a die-hard JP/SS fan! I'm also glad you appreciate that I take my time with their relationship. I'm sort-of new to JP/SS (besides Tragic of course) so I guess I have a newer take on things. A lot of writers just do the hate/love thing, which is fine but… I like my love like I like my coffee: creamy and sugary.

**Pikaf**- Well… Severus _does_ have his secrets…

And I love it when you guess what will happen and you're wrong. No offense to you of course, your predictions are very good actually… I just love not being predictable. It makes me feel like J.K. Rowling! XD Glee! But you are absolutely right about one thing:

Yes, yes. He _definitely_ sold poisons to "wrong" people. Dun, dun, dun!

**GothicSidhe**- Needless to say I've sort of taken this from personal experience, the whole dinner table with the old and young… I enjoy writing the grandfatherly!Albus, rather more than the For-The-Greater-Good!Albus. (Though… I _might_ be sensing a future Albus/Gellert fic… possibly…)

I'm thrilled I've converted someone! Yay JP/SS!

* * *

We wander for what feels like hours. London is full of restaurants, it seems, but it's also eleven o'clock and many places are closing their doors at us. One pale, protuberant-nosed waitress even sweeps dirt on Snape's feet when he asks if their open. The fish-and-chips place Severus told me about is closed. The steakhouse is closed. Even the American diner we went to the other day is closed (after all it is a Tuesday rather than a Friday night). Restaurant-searching quickly becomes bar-hopping, because every time we wander into a place that looks packed, we wait at the bar to be seated, have a drink and are finally turned down by the hostesses ("the restaurant closed at _ten_," on waitress replied snappishly). Severus' sighs become giggles, he's had two shots and a scotch already, not to mention the wine we had before. 

"You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach," I tell him, pointing my finger straight at his nose.

"Bah," says Snape, albeit his stance is getting steadily woozier.

Severus loops his arm in mine, and he leans against me at random intervals, leaving my side only to peer into half-lit windows, humming bars, and around street corners. We've lost all purpose and direction now. Surely being lost as a wizard is not as unnerving as being a muggle, because we could always just apparate home... but… even so… we're lost in the middle of London, like stray cats or orphans, looking for something to eat, pawing at trash cans…

Severus feels it too, that childish fear of being lost, in the dark, without food. His eyes grow wide; his nostrils flare. But something in him becomes more alive in the dark. I can see a spark of blackness in his face, the pleasure of twilight evident on his features, as one would react to noon. It mixes inside of him, subdues him, and like some nocturnal beast waking at sunset. Severus Snape _becomes _darkness. He and the night are one. Fear only makes him see more clearly. And though he's the intoxicated, stumbling drunk next to me there is a seriousness and intensity in those pupil-less black eyes.

I'm not at all surprised when he grips my hand. Though I'm not sure why… all I know is that it's not out of fear…

We keep walking, until we see pink neon lights. THIS RESTAURANT IS **OPEN**. Severus just grasps where we are, "Food? Finally?"

I blink up at the sign. There is a picture of a cartoon-y muscular man decked out in a hoola skirt and sunglasses. He looks something like a fruity GI Joe, flexing and smiling down at me. The sign reads "Gerado's Carribean Barbeque and Grill." It's finished with a neon flamingo. "Sure… I guess…" I mumble.

The host is a tan Indian in his mid-twenties. He's also half naked. He flashes us a wide, white-toothed grin. He says, "Welcome to Gerado's," in a soft, feminine voice, "you're magical getaway for the alternative lifestyle. Are you together?"

He's wearing a turban, and a multicolored skirt that glows in the black light. How can a person have a chest that completely free of hair?

It takes a moment for my eyes to lift off of his abs, "Errrr…. Table for two?" I raise two fingers.

"Right this way," he says, picking up two green-and-pink menus and leading us to a flamingo-colored booth.

As we walk, following his satin bottom, I can't help but notice two long-haired men kissing in the corner of the bar. There are no women, only men, and though I don't see a dance floor, I can hear music pounding away in another room. There are glittering men everywhere, men half-naked, men in drag, men smoking… save for one family of four that is sitting white-faced and out-of-place. "Snnnnape!" I whisper hoarsely, "Severus… we're in a… _queer_ place!"

"Please just sit," he whispers back, "I'm soooo hungry. I just want to eat…"

"Here you are," says the turban-clad gentleman. "You're waiter will be right with you."

We sit on the flamingo-padded booth. I can't stop staring at the snogging couple across from us. They're both wearing leather.

Severus looks around coolly. "This _is_ a really gay bar."

He looks at the menu. I stare at him.

"You're just realizing this, now?" The boys across from us are using way too much tongue.

"No… just… gayer than my standards."

"Gayer than gay?"

"It's gayocity on the scale of one to ten is…" he sways a little. "Gay."

"You drank a little too much," I say, concern in my voice.

"I just need food, I'll be…"

"Why! Aren't you a cute couple?"

A blond waiter appears, whose bellybutton is four inches from my elbow. _Oh, no_… people are going to think we're a couple. It hardly matters, I don't know any of these people, but…

"The specialty drink of the day is a mango-tango margarita with peaches. The specials are a happy-tappy fajita, which is with habanero sauce, and a Publeo Pecan Codfish, which is fresh slice of cod over couscous with a sweet pecan sauce and beets." The waiter says this at break-neck speed, siphoning out the napkins and silverware. He lifts his small pad of paper, "What can I get you to drink today?"

"I'll have that mango-tango thing," says Snape.

"Severus!" I scold him. I'm worried about how much he can drink before he pukes.

He just gives me a "shut-up, _mum_" look, and I snap my mouth shut.

"Um… I'll have that…er … banana-smoothie thing…" I point to my menu.

"Sounds good! I'll be back in a jiffy!" says the topless man.

Severus licks his lips, and stares at his menu. I can't take my eyes off of him, because I think that if they wander, I might see something even gayer and I might lose my lunch. There's glitter on my hands already, how did that happen? "What are you getting?" he asks me.

"Um… that pecan thing I guess…"

"I think I might get a pasta thing."

"There are no pasta things. I looked. It's a Caribbean place."

"Maybe I'll get a salmon thing."

"Maybe you'll get a chicken thing."

Snape grins, "Or a beef thing…"

Something tan and big just passed by me.

"Severus…" I whisper.

He doesn't respond; he's still idly flipping his menu.

"_Severus_…" I whisper through my teeth.

"Emmm?" He murmurs. "What?"

"_Severus…_don't look right now… Don't. Look. But I think that guy over there is… _naked_."

The corner of his lips twitches upwards. Elegantly, or as elegantly as possible when one is sloshed, he lifts an elbow on the booth top, and peers a glance at the black-haired man. The family of four has gotten up. Their little girl is crying. Severus turns back to me with a grin from cheek to cheek. "_Starkers_!" says Severus, "except…" he tosses another glance, "a loin cloth… uh, oh."

"Uh, oh?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Hide! No… shit."

The tan mass that I've been averting my eyes from suddenly heads our way.

"Hi! My name is Sirius, may I take your diner order this eve…"

Sirius blinks.

I blink.

Severus blinks.

"S-s-s-s-sirius?" I whisper.

My best friend's gray eyes are wide and terrified. His gloriously nude body is suddenly tense. "This is a dream," he says bringing the pen and notepad to his face. "This is a dream, and I am going to wake up."

"Sirius," I say, calmly this time. "It's… I'm…"

"We just wandered in!" Severus says a little too loudly. "We didn't know it was… you know… and it's so late that we thought no one else would serve us…" Sirius is still shaking his head as though he didn't believe Snape was really there.

"Sirius… it was an accident… Severus and I… we're not going out, right Severus?"

He nods feverishly.

Sirius is now looking at me with those wide, fearful, gray eyes.

"It's ok. I already know you're gay. And this isn't much different. I haven't told anyone."

Sirius makes a noise that Padfoot makes in his sleep, a sort of moan-whine. He points at Severus.

"Oh! He won't tell either, right Snape?" I say.

Severus stares Sirius blankly in the eyes. He then sighs and says, "Sirius, I've known you were gay since fifth year. I haven't told anyone yet, so I probably won't bother now."

To my great pleasure Sirius doesn't take offense at this. He nods towards his bare flip-flopped toes. "Lily?" he asks in the same manner that Aberforth did earlier.

"What about Lily?" I'm getting annoyed that so many people are asking me about her. What? Did they expect us to be joined by the hip?

"Does she know?"

"Does she know about _what_?" Snape snarls. He looks ready to punch something. He seems irrationally angry; he really did drink too much.

"Sirius," I say imploringly, "We," I point to Snape and then me, "are not," I slice my hand horizontally in front of my chest, "dating. We wandered in. We were hungry. We want to eat. Food."

"In a gay bar?"

"_I-Didn't-Know-It-Was-A-Gay-Bar!_" I hiss through my teeth. The two boys in leather have stopped snogging and are looking at us. I wish they would kiss again and stop whispering. "_We-Wandered-In. Are-You-Going-To-Feed-Us-Or-Aren't-You?_"

The blond is back with our drinks. He hands me a banana smoothie and Severus his mango-tango thing.

Quite frankly, I've never felt gayer.

"Trying to steal my tables _again_, Sirius?" the blond mutters under his breath.

"Er…" Sirius still looks like someone has hit him over the head with a very good Confundus charm.

The waiter slides a basket of tortilla chips and salsa and gives us a wide, fake smile. "Don't mind him," he nods his blond head towards Sirius, "he just likes to be the life of the party. Flirts with guys… scares normal folk away… you know…"

"We know each other," I say. Sirius scratches his arm, looking incredibly more _naked_ than he did five minutes ago.

"Oh!" says the waiter. "Isn't that nice?" He turns to Sirius. "Let me just take their order and you can chat."

I order my codfish-thing, and Severus orders some-weird-taco-beef-cheesy-thing. He's inhaled half of the chips already. Sirius stands off to the side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, like how he would when McGonnagal was about to give him a detention.

Finally, in a remarkable display of likable humor that I would have never thought him capable of, Severus sips from his neon pink straw of his mango-tango margarita, puckers his lips from the tartness, an announces, "Well, I'm not going to lie. I feel really queer right now."

I snort into hysterical giggles. Sirius is semi-smiling.

"Cheers," I say, wiping tears from my eyes. My frosted banana smoothie glass clinks with his sombrero-shaped margarita. We snort and snigger for several minutes like a pair of hyenas, until our laughter dies.

"I gotta say…" Severus mumbles. "Tonight has been an interesting experience. We began by trying to go get sum grub!" Severus sways as he attempts an American cowboy accent. "Now we're at a gay bar. What do you know?"

Sirius can't seem to decide if he should smile or not. "Er… sorry, I guess…"

"Not complaining," Severus sways. "I am perfectly happy with my mango-tango-made-by-queers-for-queers drink."

"Is it good?" I ask.

"Yeah!" Severus sips at it. "Why, how is yours?"

I wave my hand a little as if to say "so-so".

Severus projects the straw into my face. I tentatively take a sip. Instantly my cheeks suction towards the insides of my mouth and my nostrils are cleared from the sheer amount of alcohol I've just tasted. "W-Wow!" My tongue is on fire with the sweetness. "Nectar of the gods!" I turn to Sirius, "Bloody Hell! Not trying to get lads drunk now are we?"

Sirius blushes. Five guys look my way. Sirius is giving me a look that _Lily_ would normally give, a your-not-being-very-sensitive look.

"Do you want…?" I ask Severus, lifting my smoothie glass ever so slightly.

He shakes his head a little and resumes sucking down his liquid candy.

Sirius is now looking at me as though he is _very angry_ at my behavior. The tightness in his lips is no less than McGonnagal's, and his severe eyes are glimmering with distrust. "James…" my _mom_ would say it like that. " James… may I speak with you in private?"

He's using a perfected and acute form of English, so that every syllable would resonate fear down my spine. I can only grin in a silent, are-you-serious type fashion, before his nude hand grabs my arm and steers me in the direction of the very populated (very _not_-private) bar.

I glance back at Severus who is nibbling at a chip and staring sadly at the two men kissing. One arm on the table, he lets out a sigh. "Sirius…" I utter, "You're being so rude."

"_I'm_?!" Sirius, my friend, my pal, stutters. "Have you gone _insane_?"

"I'm just trying to get something to eat. Honestly, Sirius. I really just don't swing that way, _you know_ that."

He takes shaky, growling breaths, closes his eyes and I'm sure he is counting to ten inside his own head.

"You look handsome," I say to cut him off.

He points his finger at me, "Don't!"

"Don't what?"

"Don't bloody butter me up like I'm you mum or the bloody headmaster!"

"I saw him earlier…"

"Don't change the subject!"

I grin a little.

"Listen. I'm going to ignore the fact that you showed up at my work, a _gay _bar. I'm going to ignore that your having problems with Lily and the engagement. I'll even ignore the fact that you _sucked his straw_." Sirius wipes his forehead, somewhat hysterically. "But bloody hell, James! Snape? Of all the people to hang around?"

"You were busy…"

"Snape. James. _Snape_. We've talked about how much we picked on him in school. And you're right. You're right. We were horrible to him. He deserves an apology…"

"I'm not having dinner with him like he's some charity case."

"Well, what is he then?"

I close my mouth. "He's…" I glance at our table. Severus is sipping at his drink, looking very lonely. "He's…" A few guys wink at him as they pass by, so he slides his ankles on the booth across from him to save me a seat. "He's a… friend…"

I sound so childish as I say this. "A friend." I try to say it in a more manly way.

"Since when are you friends with death eaters?"

Sirius' statement slices across my heart, bringing images of Voldemort with his red pupil-less eyes, and armies, and green spells, and genocide…

"There's no proof of that."

"Have you even been looking? Aren't you an auror?"

I glance at him again. Severus… I've fooled myself into thinking that name is sweet. That Snape could only be here to listen to my voice and dance with me on subways. For some reason Sirius' irrational accusation makes more sense to me than Remus' or Moody's small comments. "Albus wasn't… Dumbledore encouraged us. He told us we should be friends."

"Yeah, well. He also thinks wizards and goblins should be friends. Fat chance."

Sirius is pointing a finger in my face again, "I swear." His face is contorted with emotion. It's almost comical against the glitter on his eyelashes. Almost. "If you utter one word about the order or the ministry to that… that…" he steadies himself, "then… let it be on your own head."

The lecture is over then. I can tell. Our shoulders rub as I walk past him.

Severus removed his ankle from my seat, smiling up at me. Two steaming plates of sustenance gleam colorfully. "You didn't have to wait for me to eat," I say softly.

"I might be in a gay bar, when someone is talking about me behind my back, but I do have good manners," Severus motions for me to sit down.

I smile half-heartedly.

We devour our meal in silence. The fish is bright and lemony on my tongue. I'm sure it would taste better if I could only stomach it. I feel a weight of wriggling emotions in my belly, guilt and embarrassment for indeed talking behind Severus' back, but also anxiety and worry, did he have other intentions? I always get the feeling that there's more to him that meets the eye. Is this it? He wants information out of me?

"I don't care what he said about me," Snape says, and the belches loudly, "Sorry. That was really good," I notice that he has already finished his tacos. "Are you always this slow at eating? Anyways… Black seems to have told you something about me. Well, I don't care what it was. I just promise you that I'm not trying to break into the ministry of magic. Or Hogwarts. Or Gringotts. I'm not trying to kill anyone in the Order of the Phoenix. I'm not trying to poison anyone. And I'm not trying to kill you. Happy?"

"Course a Slytherin _would _say that."

He sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Just eat your dinner. Oh… And I haven't slept with anyone in six months so the gay rumors just aren't true either."

"And what would that have to do with me?" I raise an eyebrow over my pecan-juiced codfish, one eye curving over my glasses.

Oddly enough, Snape flushes, "Nothing."

It's only _after_ I've taken about four more bites of cod that I blush myself. I can hear Sirius voice in my head again. His incredulous whine, "You _sucked his straw!_" Had I not just been holding Severus' hand less than an hour ago? The wriggling snakes in my stomach make way for sunlit warmth. I stuff my face some more.

I've been denying to people that there wasn't anything between us for a good four hours now. Don't blame me for being a little slow on the uptake. "I w-wouldn't care either way. It's really none of my business…" What is this… this… for the lack of a better word… this _thing_ between us? I run through the past few days in my head. Perhaps it would make more sense if I look at this more objectively:

1. We met randomly.

Sounds like at date already. I remind myself that people meet randomly all the time without it being dates.

2. We smoked grass together.

Happens…

3. I apologized to Severus for beating him up in school.

A courageous, Gryffindorian thing to do, right.

4. We go eat food.

Not unusual at all. A man has to eat. It might be in someone else's company at the time, regardless.

5. We make plans to meet on a Tuesday.

Plans. This is harder to siphon off. People make plans to do things. It doesn't make us… doesn't make me…

6. Plans are thwarted. Fail to eat.

Eating at Manjano's wouldn't have been as gay. We would have maybe talked to Mimbly, had some pasta and left.

7. We are now in a gay bar, a little tipsy, cracking jokes and having a jolly good time.

_How did this happen?_

I choke a little on my codfish. Severus pats my shoulder. People have been asking me about Lily all bloody night, why hadn't anyone told me how queer I looked?

Except… they had.

We aren't dating. We aren't. I don't know what Severus may think, but I'm not dating him.

Severus is smiling a half-smile, "You alright? Don't die." I nod and cough into my fist. How did this happen? This warm, kind smile is splayed across Severus', _Snivelus'_, face. The sort of dopey smile one wears when one sees and elderly couple holding hands. Only it doesn't make him look more stupid…

"What's wrong?" His face falls. He's probably noticed how white my face is.

I let a shuddering breath escape my trapped lungs.

"James?"

"I…I-I… I…" I whisper, realizing that I _love _the way he says my name. It makes my heart quiver with excitement. "I gotta pee."

I realize that this is the case only after I say it.

"Oh." Severus peers around, looking for a restroom sign. "You know, James…" there it is again, "I don't think you should use these restrooms."

"Why?"

He blushes, "I just think it's a bad idea."

I raise an eyebrow, "Why?"

He blushes more deeply, "I've just… heard rumors… about…"

"About what?"

"About people getting molested."

"Huh?"

"You know what they say about gay bar restrooms, honestly. If someone isn't having sex in a stall then someone is going to grab your…"

"_Severus_! You're prejudiced against your own kind?"

"I'm not prejudiced. Just pessimistic." Severus pulls his hair back, tying it in a ponytail; the light finally falls on his delicate features. "I just don't want you to have to unwillingly loose your queer virginity to some guy in the booth."

"I'm touched."

"That's what I'm trying to avoid!"

We both laugh.

"Alright, let's just get the check and I'll run in somewhere," I say.

Just as Severus opens his mouth to complain about the waiter taking a long time, the blond is instantaneously there. It's odd how that works.

Only we have to turn him right around when we ask for different checks. He just assumed we were a couple. I wondered whom he thought was going to pay. Who was the dominant husband of the relationship? It's me. I know it's me.

Finally, after we split the bill and the tip, we head out the door. I don't even bother to try and find Sirius this time, and Snape doesn't even suggest it.

We start walking, and as I head into the bar next door, Snape hisses, "That one is a gay bar too." And that next one, upon further inspection, "Yes, that one too. Perhaps we should just get off of this street…"

We take a left, and then a right further down. I can hear music over the traffic noise. I'm drawn to it, like a moth to the flame. I can hear it in the distance:

_"Folk's here's the story 'bout Minnie the Moocher  
she was a red hot hoochie coocher  
she was the roughest, toughest frail  
but Minnie had a heart a big as a whale_."

It's a slow sort of jazzy tune. I realize that we're holding hands again. But the warmth of his palm is not unwelcome.

As we draw nearer I see, not neon lights, but a great wooden sign. "_Speakeasy's!"_ is spelled out in painted wooden letters. A soft sort of red glow radiates from the place and the sounds are sweet and slow. "How about this place?" I ask Severus.

He nods.

"_She had a dream about the king of Sweden.  
He gave her things that she was needin'  
He gave her a home built of gold and steel  
A diamond car with platinum wheels_."

Suddenly the tempo kicks up, and people around me are singing in response to a black man with a white suit. He has a ten-man band behind him. Trombones, trumpets, a piano man, a drummer, three saxes and a base player. I let go of Severus' hand and march toward the back, where the restroom is decorated with a hundred posters.

I don't get a good look at the people as I pass, but I can tell everyone is dancing and singing. Hopefully I can find Severus when I get out.

"_He gave her his town house and a thousand horses  
Each meal she ate was a dozen courses  
She had a million dollars worth of nickels and dimes  
And counted them all a million times."_

I wash my hands and return from the, thankfully, empty restroom to find Severus almost completely surrounded by women outside.

A rather ugly redhead was lighting him a cigarette. He puffed it, looking bored. I want to push her freckled hands off of him.

_ "Poor Min._

_ Poor Min_

_Poor Min!"_

Attempting to not look annoyed, I stroll to him, and whisper in his ear, "Want a drink?"

He links his arm in mine, gives the cigarette back to the woman, and we walk inside.

The black man in the suit is introducing his next song as we walk in, "Wid a Hidehi and a hodeho! Hey all you cool cats, we're gonna take it down a bit for the closing numba'. One o' ma favorite songs, St. James Infirmary!"

Several people whistle at that.

The sounds that emit from that trumpet move me in the way that music rarely does. Walking to the bar soon becomes slow dancing to the bar. The old sort of swing has everyone moving, even the singer.

Severus grins at me and lets me pay for his scotch, downing it nearly in one gulp.

"_I went down to St. James Infirmary _

_And I saw my baby there_

_She was stretched out on a long white table_

_So cold_

_So pale_

_So Fair_

_Let her go, let her go… God bless her _

_Wherever she may be…_

_She can look this wide world over_

_She'll never find a sweet man like me_."

I drink myself, staring up at this stylish old man over the rim of my glass. This place isn't a queer place, but it's not really a straight place either. Everyone is dancing with everyone as the piano beats away, and the blues rolls on.

So I am not at all surprised… or maybe I am… when Severus pulls me down for a kiss.

_"When I die bury me in my straight lace shoes (so I can run from the devil)_

_I wanna box back coat with a Stetson hat._

_Put a fifty dollar gold piece on my watch chain._

_So the boys'll know that I died standing pat." _

_Give me 6 gamble'n bearers_

_Let the chorus girls sing me a song_

_Get a jazz band on my tailgate_

_So we can raise Halleluja as we go along…"_

It's a reckless sort of kiss, not at all really planned or thought out. I can tell by the way his lips mush into mine, by the soft sigh that escapes him. I love the calm way he plays with my collar, the lazy licks of his tongue against my lip. It's long and languid.

I sigh too, as if I've been waiting for this forever.

When we run out of breath, he quickly lets go at turns back toward the big band, as if the kiss hadn't happened and isn't going to happen again. My only proof of this attraction is my hand on his knee.

_"Folks, now that you have heard my story_

_Hand me another shot of that booze._

_And if anyone asks you, you tell 'em_

_I've got the St. James Infirmary Blues!"_

"May I ask you what that was all about?" I whisper into his ear, one hand floating, possessively to his chest. "Or why it stopped?"

"I was in the mood."

"Naturally," I whisper. I can't keep the grin out of my voice. "But surely you would have liked kissing that red-head more than kissing me?"

He freezes.

"Huh, Severus?" I lick the shell of his ear. I don't know why I'm doing this. Minutes ago I was resolved that I wasn't dating him. But I can't keep my hands off him. "Do you think maybe I could have another kiss?" I bit down on his soft lobe. He squirms against me, letting me know the answer instantly. I've given up on using logic for the time being.

"Only because you asked so nicely," says Snape. His fist tugs at my tie, pulling me down for a sour kiss. His lips and tongue feel snug and soft against the roughness of his chin, scratchy from his five-o'clock shadow. I want to inhale him like smoke, to keep him around in my lungs until I breathe him out again. I want to devour his scent, but I can't because it's masked underneath the taste of cigarettes and scotch.

"Mmmm…" I hum into his mouth, and it's so _sinful_, so _painful_ that I love him this way. I hope he can tell with my moan that he's the only one that does this to me. Not even Lily. Not even Sirius, Remus or Peter. Not my parents. Not _anyone_. I lick my lips when we pull apart. I've never felt so _needy_.

"Oh, dear. Potter…" he smirks at me. My face must be in a dreamy expression. It's that wild, untamable gleam in his eye, that… come-and-get-me look that he's always given me, but not like this. "Did you plan on getting me intoxicated and taking me home?"

"Taking… you… home?" I whisper. Does he mean back to _my_ place? That would be kind of awkward to explain to my parents: _Hey, mum and dad. Do you remember that kid that I used to beat up in school? Yeah… the one that Dumbledore sent you letters about? Remember how I used to get in trouble and you used to give me long lectures about 'violence is not the answer'? Well, we're kinda… sorta… dating. Oh and… by the way… I think I might be homosexual…_

"You know where I live, don't you?" Severus smiles, dreamily, back at me. "All you need now is a key."

"A key? Really?" I can barely contain my excitement; _Lily _hasn't even given me her key yet…

"But I'll give it to you only one condition…"

I'm still waiting for the condition when he kisses me again, sucking my bottom lip. He bites my lip like the vampire he is. His eyes are closed in concentration, and I can't help but stare even though it's making me cross-eyed and… _oh_!

"Hey you!" says the bartender. "You! Get a room, will ya?"

My lips suction off of his, making a noise one would expect from a broken toilet. "We should go…" I say.

We stalk off, out the door and onto those welcoming black streets. "My place?" Severus whispers. I nod.

He grasps my hand.


	5. Chapter 5: The House

A/N: I'm sorry about the lame delay. October equals Death. Half of November was spent bringing me back to life. I'm back now. Hope your not too disappointed.

Frayedsoul, Ms. Tree Sap, geka0taitsume0taikaiyou-Thanks much!

Vendetta- There won't be a happy ending. Sorry. But I felt I should warn you now. Romantic: yes. Happy: no. TRANSLATION! Really? Oh sure! I'm flattered.

Euripides- Your too sweet…(blush)

Fake Is the New Real- I'm quite happy that your socks have, indeed, been rocked.

The Unbreakable Snape Fan- Woot! Thanks for your feedback. It was really great looking back at all of the little things you were talking about. I'm glad you approve of certain decisions I made, like not making Tobias evil, and doing a songficced chapter.

She-Elf- Smattering. Fun word.

Hope your bum feels better. Glad you laughed though. If you still want to proofread, just send me an email But if you have as much stuff to do as I do, my advice is to study for that psychology exam. Gosh knows I should be doing that right now…

GothicSidhe- That's so weeeeeird! I'm glad it's close to reality because I've never been in either of those situations, so I took a while imagining what it would be like… meh… Smoking monitor? Oh, no! I hope it'll be ok when if I do a smutty scene. Teehee, glad you liked it.

Autumn Snowfall- Thanks, I'm glad you like it!

Isabelle Adamowitz- I might get myself into trouble by replying to you. Mmmmm… yes and maybe. Yeah, I suppose that's cryptic enough. Thanks for reviewing!

Thomas Hobbs- Better to have loved and lost…

Pikaf- Buggar, you're getting better at this.

Hmm… I can neither confirm nor deny that there is evidence in this entirely blank file of paper I'm currently holding that a sex scene will or has ever existed. WINK.

Melkor-the-Morgoth- I'm glad you liked the chapter. Heh, I hadn't really realized how much of a cliffhanger this was until I posted it really. Hope you didn't mind too much. (I wanna have coffee now… I wonder why…)

* * *

I'm a little embarrassed to say that we did_not_ have sex last night. It started off good, with a slow sort of tango to the bedroom, kissing and stumbling up the stairs. But once we hit the bed we were both out cold. We didn't even bother to take off our socks. 

The sunlight is streaming through tall windows across Severus' down bed. My head feels like it has split in two, and my nice shirt is crumpled and wrinkled and smelly. Snape is snoring. It isn't as loud as my father's snore but it still woke me up.

"Shush," I say, nudging his shoulder.

Snape wriggles in the sheets, finds a more comfortable place on the pillow and snorts, "Hmmmm… sorry."

There's a small sheen of sweat on his forehead; the room is mildly hot from the sticky morning sun. His nose is rubbing against the soft white pillow; hair is sticking out in all directions, but a small gleam of white neck blushes the sunlight. It beckons me. I kiss the exposed neck, that soft but strong space underneath his earlobe. Even though my nostrils fill with the unnatural stench of scotch, the slight peck becomes languid, open-mouth kisses, down that muscle to the soft collarbone.

He sighs, "Feel's nice." He buries his head into my chest and bowls me over. I've become his pillow.

"Hey, who said you could use me as a teddy-bear?"

He mutters something indistinct.

"Huh?"

"I did."

"Oh."

I squirm, turning to find that magical alarm clock. It reads 9:40.

"Who said teddy-bears could move?"

"I did."

He bites my neck in response. It's a light pinch at the space between my neck and shoulder, sending shocks of pleasure down my spine. My hips rub against his. But I'm still half-awake and can hardly move from my headache.

I groan a little.

"Mmm…" Severus hums in my ear. "Me too. Do you want some aspirin?"

I groan again, in a more affirmative fashion.

He reaches across me, toward the bed stand on the right side. His weight is warm and welcome on my abdomen. My hands wander ever-so slightly to the small of his back. His weight feels so much lighter than Lily's, except it doesn't… Lily's weight is that of bubbles and water balloons and fruit… Severus is a hard muscle and edges, a firm stomach and bony back.

I hear jiggling sounds of pills inside of jars as he fumbles through what looks like twenty bottles of drugs.

"You _take_ all those?"

Severus raises an eyebrow at me and gives me a look that plainly says: _Wouldn't you like to know_? He picks up one bottle, and tosses it aside. "Perhaps."

"But what on earth for?"

"It's birth control."

I snort.

He finally hands me a little blue pill. I stare at it, in the middle of the palm of my hand. "How do you know this isn't… acid… or something?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "Because I do."

"But how do you…"

"Because _I_ made it, you dopey Gryffindor!" Snape finally snaps at me. Apparently his headache is as bad as mine. "And I wouldn't put acid next to my birth control pills."

"You're so odd," I swallow the blue pill, without getting a glass of water, "but I trust you."

He watches me as I down it, and solemnly takes one himself. His eyes are on me the whole time. "If you _must_ know," he says as if I had continued to ask annoying questions, "I_do_ dabble in muggle pharmacology. And it is _quite _illegal. By their laws anyway." Suddenly I remember last night's conversation with Mad-Eye and Albus, and how I had asked him quickly if he had ever tried muggle medicine.

"Oh, well I doubt it would've…"

"Gotten me into trouble with Moody and Dumbledore? Of course it would have!" Snape's eyes are wide and oddly mischievous. "I'm not allowed to make pills! I haven't got a doctoral degree. I just wanted to see how it worked… you know… see if some muggle medicine can rival potions."

"Can they?"

"Oh, _yes_," his eyes are glittering even more energetically. "Sometimes I don't think _they_ even realize how brilliant they are. Have you ever heard of penicillin?"

"Er… no…"

"It's an antibiotic. It heals infections almost as well as a wound-cleaning potion!" Snape's eyes are not only glittering, his whole face is lit up with academic excitement. What a geek. "Muggles have a much more truthful understanding of how the body functions. You see, healers depend on alchemy, and most of the time that works, but… muggles! They know the sickness, sometimes molecule-by-molecule and target the cure directly by that."

"You know you really sound like a potions-dork right now. Forgive me if my layman's mind doesn't quite comprehend everything…"

"And aspirin is quite easy to make!" Severus beams. "Much easier than a head-ache curing potion, and asphodel is_so_ expensive these days…"

"You're not… _prescribing_ these things to people are you?"

Snape blinks, "Oh, no! No…" he _sounds_ honest at least. "Besides… you know… me… and you…"

"Hmmm…" I let it go. He's telling me the truth, at least about this group of pills. I let out a huge lion-yawn. "You may know how to make aspourin. But I know the best way to cure a headache." I lay my head on his soft down pillow, sniffing the scent of Severus' hair on it.

"And how would _you_ cure a headache, Prince Potter?"

"By taking a nap."

"Mmm…" Severus buries his head on my shoulder, curling against me, our toes touch through the fabric of our socks, "that does sound like a good idea…"

"I know… I'm brilliant."

I wonder if he knows that I'm being sarcastic.

After a few moments of resting my eyes I'm already drifting in the space between dreams and consciousness. My knees bend around his limbs. Severus is curled against me, fitting into my body like some thick, expensive down blanket. His wet breath is rhythmic against a soft patch of my neck. The sun warms my eyes. It feels like I've just fallen asleep, when a great _noise_ wakes me up again.

"Severus," I mumble, "Whatssat?"

He groans and buries his head deeper in my neck like how an ostrich would bury into the sand. He's squeezing my middle rather tightly.

Footsteps? Someone is pitter-pattering up the stairs at an alarming rate…

"Sev…" I whisper more urgently. "Somebody's here…"

"Wait…" he grunts, "is today… Wednesday?"

And suddenly, far too suddenly, there are limbs and feet on the bed. There is jumping. There is giggling. There is poking. A tiny pair of feet land on my abdomen. A childish voice is shouting in rhythm with his jumping on the bed.

"SEVERUUUUUUUUUUUUUS!"

Jump. Jump. Jump.

My heart has landed somewhere in my throat due to fright. What is this foul creature doing in this bed? Who else on earth knows Severus by his first name anyhow? Besides his mother, and Lily… and, of course, _me_… But what _kid_ would know him by his first name.

The jumping. Won't. Stop.

Merciful heavens make it go away.

"UNCLE SEVY! Wake up!"

The voice of a five-year-old is cracking my skull open. I can't see a thing because my glasses are on the bedside table.

"Don't call me that, child," growls Snape as he rolls into a sitting position. "I'm not your uncle and if I was I would be embarrassed."

The child sits on my stomach. Everything is a blur, but I can make out flaming red hair. I grab for my glasses.

"And never call me 'Sevy' again."

"Yeesthsir," the child says. "Who's this?" I feel a tiny finger on my forehead. "A _frieeeeeend_?"

I can taste bile on my tongue.

"Sitting on people is rude, you know." Severus is taking off his shirt and placing a new one his shoulders, black by the looks of it. "So is pointing."

Finally, I place my glasses on my nose. A freckly, baby-faced boy is grinning down at me, thrusting his hand towards my chest.

"My name's Barry Evens. Nice to meet you," he says, a smile ear to ear.

I shake his little hand; it's half the size of mine.

"James Potter. And nice to meet you too," I lie.

Severus is looking at us both sulkily over his shoulder. His black shirt makes him seem much more severe than five minutes ago.

"Why are you here an hour early? And sitting on people is _still__rude_!"

Barry Evens wriggles off me. "Mum said she had to go to the store early. She'll pay you extra!" He notices Severus' annoyed expression. "Sorry…" he mumbles.

Severus' face softens at that.

I start, sitting up, "Barry, you're not related to _Lily_, are you?"

"Um," he gives a glance at Snape, "No… I'm not a flower."

Snape snorts.

"Not _lilies_. Lily Evans is friend of his," Severus turns toward me. "No, he's not."

I ponder at the boy, "Really? You're sure he's not a cousin or something? He's got the same red hair…"

"Spell your name for the gentleman," says Snape with a sigh.

"B-A-Double R-Y! E-V-E-N-S!" sings Barry at the top of his small lungs, bouncing on the bed wildly up and down.

"Very good," says Snape. "Go wash. I'll be down in a minute."

"Yesthsir!" says Barry. His thunderous footsteps recede down the steps. He's singing his name at the top of his lungs, still.

Severus gives me an apologetic glance, a slight blush on his cheeks. "I'm teaching him potions. I tutor him on Wednesdays, I'm terribly sorry I forgot…"

"Severus Snape, you are a man full of surprises."

He raises an eyebrow, smiling bemusedly.

"Who would have thought you were a babysitter!"

Seconds later he has me in a death-grip. His arm is around my neck and I can't stop laughing. "Whassat?"

"Mr. MOM!" I choke out through my laughter…

Severus drives his knuckles into my skull, sending my already askew black hair into more chaos. We wrestle like nine-year-olds, sending sheets and blankets and pillows in every which direction. I pin him to the bed, holding both wrists.

A fresh wave of arousal hits me as his firm stomach is pressed flush against mine. I bend down for a small, wet kiss. His lips are cold and wet and soft, and I bend my head back from his mouth to resist going further. I hardly think Barry would appreciate me humping him into the mattress, "I should go."

Slight anxiety passes over his face, his eyebrows furrow. "You… don't have to! Stay and have breakfast at least…"

I stare at my hand that is still gripping his small white wrist. "Alright…"

…This could get messy…

"But just for breakfast."

Needless to say, four hours later I'm still hanging around Uncle Sevy and B-A-Double-R-Y. We're in the midst of making a sleeping draught. I'm doing the cutting while Severus is instructing, and Barry is… sniffing things and sticking non-appropriate things in his mouth. Like Beetle eyes.

"You know… Severus…" I say delicately, inhaling some of the mold of Severus' oh-so-dungeon-like basement, "this seems a little complex for someone his age."

"Poppycock!" Severus says, lifting his chin defiantly, his pale face gothic and impressive in the semi-darkness.

Barry and I giggle.

"Oh… you two," he shakes his head, "this isn't as bad as the Draught of Living Death, and he has to learn how to properly squeeze sopophorous beans!"

But Barry has the attention span of a caffeinated mouse. He much prefers singing gruesome, morbid songs about dead things in jars than learning how to properly handle a knife. Whenever I speak, the boy turns his head the other way. Kids need to learn to respect their elders.

Oddly enough Severus has a knack for gaining Barry's undivided attention. He does this mostly by lowering his voice, until it is so low that Barry has to look at him wide-eyed and read his lips. "_Without_ cutting yourself. You need to hold the knife sideways and place your palm firmly on it." He demonstrates with his butcher knife. Severus also doesn't fill his instructions with drabble and fluff like Slughorn did, every word is important and if you don't pay attention something might go wrong.

He hands him a plastic-pink knife, and Barry does exactly what he had done.

"Good job."

Barry Evens simply beams at Severus' praise. He then smiles at me as if to say, _and you thought I couldn't do it!_ Little shit…

"I have to go to the bathroom," says Severus. "Don't blow up the basement, will you?"

I eye Barry warily. It is well within his grasp.

Snape leaves the room all too quickly.

Barry and I look at each other.

As slow and as evilly as the Grinch himself, Barry smiles. "SEVY! SEVY! HE HIT ME!"

My eyes are as wide as saucers. "I…"

"No, he didn't," Severus says from the other room.

Barry pouts. He swings his legs on the stool and sniffs at the sophorous bean juice. His blue eyes read "malevolent" as he looks at me. "I'm bored."

"You're being boring," say I.

"Do something."

"Why don't you?"

"Teach me another potion."

My eyes shift over Severus' numerous jars of potions ingredients and dangerous scalpels. "Maybe we should wait for Severus to come back…"

"No!"

"How old are you, Barry?" Distraction is always the best tactic.

"Fayve." He holds up four fingers.

"Eh… one more…" I point at his thumb. He lifts his fifth finger, "There we go. Do you know how to count to ten, Barry?"

"Yes!"

"Show me."

"ONE-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-TEN!"

"Wow!" I say, trying, and failing, to look impressed. "Do you know how to do it in Japanese?"

"No… do you?" His blue eyes glitter. "That's cool!"

"I was bored one day, and someone taught me. Wanna learn?"

"Ok!"

"Ichi."

"Ichi."

"Ni."

"Ni."

"San."

"San."

Ok… this is a good way to get rid of… thirty seconds. Gods, why do kids have so much energy? I reply monotonously as my mind wanders about Severus. And why I don't want to stop being around him. I bet he thinks I'm pathetic. I've been following him around all night and all day like some bloody hound. I bet he wants to get rid of me once Barry leaves…

There's a tightness in my chest when I think of it that way…

"Jyuu."

"Jyuu."

"Now can you do all of them at once?"

"Em…"

"Ichi-ni-san-yon-go-roku-shichi-haichi-kyuu-jyuu," I say.

"Ichi-nichi-saa-yo-goo-boka…"

"That's quite enough," says Severus, wiping his hands on a dishtowel as he enters the room. "What are you teaching him, gibberish?"

A hollowed _knock, knock_, flitters down the stairs.

"Sounds like your mother's here," Severus hums, attempting in vain to hide the small twitch of relief in his eyebrows.

"Already?" Barry and I whine at once.

"'Fraid so."

Barry's blue eyes turn towards me. "Very nice to meet you, Mr. Barry Evens," I say over-eloquently stretching out a hand.

Barry Evens, surprisingly, hugs me round the middle. I pat his back, arms slinging down towards my waist awkwardly. Snape shakes his head, smilingly.

"Will I see you here again?" Barry demands.

"Er…"

Severus and I look at each other for a long moment. There's a softness in his gaze, and a slight blush in his cheek.

"Perhaps, Barry. Perhaps."

His blue eyes glow with anticipation. "Will you read me a story next time? And… and… do fun things?"

Severus looks even more embarrassed. Barry is quite demanding. I scratch the back of my head, "Em… sure."

Severus rubs his eyes with his palm, "Your mother's waiting."

Barry leaps into a hug with Severus, who awkwardly pats him on the head and shuffles him up the steps. I sit, perched like a flooper on stool, Severus' voice echoing through the ceiling.

"Here you are," when Severus returns he hands me a few galleons. "I split it fifty-fifty…"

"Oh, no!" I wave my hands in front of my chest, like how my grandmother used to when we tried to give her pepper-up potions. "No, no, no… you don't have to pay me! It's your job and I intruded…"

"You can't honestly say that it was a pleasure," Snape raised an eyebrow.

"But you did most of the sitting," I say in a high-pitched voice. Somehow it seems like the money is a sexual thing and I should coyly deny his advances like a princess to a savvy prince. "I just sat there and watched!"

"Oh, that's not true and you know it. I left you in the room alone with him. Just take the bloody money, will you?" Uh, oh, now he looks annoyed. Maybe he wants me to leave. "Stop being a modest mouse. You helped me a lot. I'm thanking you."

I tentatively take the gold pieces in my hand.

Severus turns from me, scourgifying the bottom of the cauldrons he used, tossing the elixirs back on shelves, washing his hands numerous times. "Why do you Gryffindor's have to be so bloody _gracious_ all the time? You'd think you were talking to his bloody _majesty_…"

I grin, a little, knowing that Severus isn't really angry and he's only pretending that he's had his feathers ruffled. I lump the gold pieces in my pocket.

"Hum… I… probably… should go…" I say softly under the clang of the pots and pans.

Severus turns slowly, his soapy hands hanging over the caldron.

"It's late… and… I… my parents are probably worried…"

He smiles slightly, startling me in a pleasant sort of way. I thought he'd be upset…

His eyes twinkle as the rising water level in the caldron tips over the rim haphazardly.

"If you've got to go, you've got to go…"

Now. Wait. This is just odd. There's something mischievous in his grin. I can only compare it to a cat whose caught a mouse. His voice is positively _singsong_. "I'll see you around then," says Severus, still holding that dreadfully knowing smile.

I turn, feeling bemused and dejected. "See you," I mumble softly.

_Whack!_

A nasty, soapy sponge hits the side of my face.

When I turn around Severus is whistling. "YOU!"

A chaos of sponge throwing ensues. I get him in the stomach with the wet sponge he threw. Soap drips down my back after he gets me on the back of the head. A sponge that was probably aimed at my chest hits me square in the groin. I hear a shriek of laughter as I double over from shock. I charm a bucket of water to fall on top of his head.

We fall on the floor, in hysterics. "You!" I laugh outright. "You look like you just jumped out of the shower!"

"WELL YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'VE WET YOURSELF!"

We've been reduced to a giggling wet heap on the floor. Soft kisses are exchanged between chuckles. Giggle. Kiss. Giggle. Kiss. We're like a teenaged couple.

"Hmm…" says Severus, after one particularly long, slobbery kiss. He looks down at his crouch, where the fabric has become moist from rubbing against me. Another slow kiss, "You should probably go." What, go? Do I have to? His tongue invades my mouth, and he rubs up against me. Giggle, "You're chin's all stubbly." He scratches the side of my face with one long, white finger.

"That's because I'm oozing with masculinity."

He roles his eyes to the ceiling, and smiles in that "oh, you," sort of way. "Or because you've spent half the day here."

"Or that. But I tend to think my oozing masculinity is a tad more likely."

"Alright, Mr. Horny." He stands up slowly, passing a hand to lift me. I discreetly rub an arm against the wet patch on his trousers on the way up.

"Can I come by on Friday?"

"Of course."

* * *

My house has been so much emptier lately. I don't know why… the same three people are still living in it. It's just that my footsteps echo louder in the grand hall than they used to. The rooms seem so much bigger, the furniture less dusted, the lamps and books less warm. The house seems more… haunted of late, even though no one has died. The souls that travel through walls are as lonely and forlorn as my own. 

It's been in my father's will for decades that this house is to be sold and turned into an orphanage when he dies. I will receive another property across town, closer to the square of Godric's Hollow. A sweet little cottage and a vast sum of money await my family when I'm ready to make one.

I don't mind. My father has always been a philanthropist and I really don't need the house anyway. Though I will miss Gimmly, my old house elf. She is getting on in years too, though. There's not much to miss but red carpets, 1920's furniture and supposedly haunted staircases. Even I can tire of the talking gargoyle by the fireplace.

I won't miss these halls. But I will miss the people in it.

A scratchy record is screeching out some twenties blues from the white room. I creep my way through the halls, socks catching on the rug, and peer in to find my elderly mother, dancing by herself.

"Mum… you know you shouldn't be doing that in heels by yourself. What if you fell again," my voice startles her a bit but she beams at me proudly.

"Codswallop. I'm fine. Where on earth have you been?"

She continues dancing, all pantyhose and low shirt and blues-style.

"Just at a fr-" I finally notice what music is playing.

"Now, she messed around with a bloke named Smoky,  
She loved him though he was cokey,  
He took her down to Chinatown,  
He showed her how to kick the gong around!"

"I know that song!" I almost-shouted at my mother. "Minnie-the-Moocher, right? I don't remember this verse…"

She swings in her pointed-toe fifty heels, dancing to the beat of her own drum. She mischievously glances at me, a twinkle of a teenager behind graying eyes, "Your father…" she says spinning slowly, "_wooed_ me with this song!" Her grin is wide in reaction to the half-exacerbation, half-embarrassment on my face.

"Wooed you?"

She smiles, her red lipstick stretching over her cracked, old lips.

"Like in Shakespeare?"

She snorts, grabbing my arm. We shuffle awkwardly; I never was much of a dancer.

"Hmm… you never were much of a dancer," says Mum. She lamely flings my arm back and forth as to loosen my grip. She places my other hand on her flabby hip, "Oh, James… no wonder she hasn't agreed to marry you yet! I haven't taught you how to dance!"

Ah… Lily…

My mother lately seems to have taken Lily's answer to my proposal as a personal insult. She never really liked her much… though there was the notion of _yet_. She hasn't agreed _yet_. Which leads my elderly mother to believe that if she could just improve her son somehow, make him more sensitive, teach him how to cook, make him do his chores, teach him how to sing and dance, then somehow Lily would fall back into his estrogen-ized arms. She would be _wooed_.

"One-two-three. _One_-two-three-ONE-two-three. Bother, this is so hard to do when you're not leading," my mother frowns at her feet, secretly wishing that she was as nimble as she had been fifty years ago, no doubt.

"Mum…" I whimper, needing her opinion.

"Maybe we should get some charts…"

"Mum…"

"Your father took a dance class. Maybe that would help you, dear?"

"Mum…"

She finally looks at me in the eyes, and the same brown irises meet.

"Do you think Lily really loves me?"

She raises one white eyebrow.

"It's just… I don't know… if she was certain, then why would she take so much time to decide?"

She shakes her head slowly, messy gray hair falling out of its bun. "I'm sorry Jamie, but they just don't make 'em like they used to." She takes a very long time to crouch down until her fragile hips hit the stool. Mum lets out a sigh, and puffs at a newly lit cigarette. I wait for her to elaborate.

"When I was your age. I was wooed. I fell in love. Then I got married. Then I had you. And now… here I am," She waves her wrinkled hands around, as if to establish and verify her existence. "But these young people… one day they love you… and the next… they've change their minds. My advice would be to stick with one person forever… but…"

She stares off into the distance and takes a drag of her cigarette.

"Do you love her?"

I blink, "I…" I cough slightly. "I thought I did."

"Now what?"

I frowned at my own hands. Here I am, James Potter. I'm destined to marry Lily Evans; I know that. I've known since I was eleven. Is this my fault? Am I _bored_ of her? Do I really love _Snape_ of all people?

How could I possibly admit to that?

"I don't know."

I shake my head. Have I fallen for someone else? Can a person really fall in love with someone other than his soul mate?

Mum shakes her head at me. "See what I mean? One day you love her, and the next you don't know." I feel a light tap on the backside of my head (much lighter than the slaps she gave me when she was younger). "Boy. No wonder she said no. You're as loyal as a muggle on Halloween."

I stare at my mother, worry evidently etched into my face. She softens.

"You like somebody else, don't you?"

My heart stops.

"H-h-how do you-?"

"A mother knows these things, Jamie. I can see it on your face. If you were really preoccupied with Lily you wouldn't be so damn euphoric. You're in love. Who is it?"

My eyes are wide. And I can't speak.

"Pre-marriage jitters," she smoked. "I'll be honest with you, Jamie, between your father asking me to marry him and me actually getting married, I flirted with another man. It was romantic…" but she flicks her wrist, siphoning off the remaining spirits of an unconventional love. "I love my husband, and I'll never regret marrying him."

I take a moment to breathe, sighing in the smoke deeply, "What should I do?"

"Figure it out." She said as though that were the most natural answer in the world. "Polygamy is not something wizards do."

I breathe out. Standing up, I excuse myself from her ex-raying motherly intuition.

I bloody hope Dad isn't this sharp…

When I reach the outside to get a breather I see something that brings no promise of solace…

Her red hair is just visible above the hedgerow. It glows like a rose among the dark leaves, yet I can't help the flaming feeling of foreboding in my chest. The sight of the love of my life calms me, but stresses me at the same time. My chest tightens, my breath grows quick, a slight blush is on my cheeks. Her beautiful figure, in khakis and a green sweater that matched her eyes, is slouching in annoyance. Lily was folding her arms under her breasts, positively glaring up at me. This is a bad sign…

"Where were you last night?"

"Eh…" I stutter, unnerved by the magical power that radiates off of her. Her green eyes are electric with suspicion and anger. There was no 'honey-bunch'ing or 'sweetums'ing my way out of it this time. "I was out with a friend…"

"The whole night?"

I gulped, "I drank quite a lot and then I slept at his place, why do you ask?"

"_Why_ _do I ask_?" she said shrilly. "Because I've heard from reputable sources that you were _going out_ with someone."

I sniff, doing the math in my head quickly, "Since when did you regard _Sirius_ as a reputable source?"

Ooh… she doesn't like that. She clicked her heals together and straightened her back. "It wasn't just Sirius, Remus said it too…"

"Glad to know I have such loyal friends."

"So you _did_ go out with someone. Who is she?"

"She?" My eyebrows pinch. Apparently they hadn't told her _who_ I was cavorting with.

"The other woman! Who-Is-She?!" The corners of her eyes are becoming wet; she's nearing hysterics.

"Lily…" I say slowly and softly, "Li-Ly."

She's not remotely pacified.

"If you must know, I was hanging around someone from school… I think Remus and Sirius were… I dunno… jealous or something. You see… I haven't been hanging around them as much lately. To no fault of them, you know, I'm really busy… But now I'm hanging around somebody else and they're all mad at me… Don't be mad at me, Lils. They're just pulling your robes to get back at me."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Think about it logically, Evans. Why would I bother with another woman when I've already got the most beautiful witch in the world at my side?"

"I dunno…" she swallows, her freckled face becoming slightly red. "Because we haven't had sex in two months," she says in a low voice.

"So what? I masturbate. It's fine."

She snorts at my loud proclamation. I've got her laughing… it's a start…

"You're an idiot, Potter."

"I wouldn't mind remedying that situation though…"

"No."

She folds her arms again, scrutinizing my story. "So, then, tell me who this friend is. Who has Sirius and Remus jealous?"

I stare at her, suddenly tense.

"I… you won't believe me."

"Try me."

I gulp.

"IaddrinkswehSnape."

She cups a hair to her ear, mockingly.

"SNAPE! SNAPE! Ok!" I blurt out, suddenly for no reason, panicking. "Severus and I had drinks… Really! You people would think I'm some sort of Death Eater or something. We went out to a few bars and had some drinks."

"You're right. I don't believe you."

"Do you want photographs or a written confession? Bloody hell!"

"Both, if you have them."

She then, slowly, painstakingly, inch-by-inch, grins, "That was a good story, though. Good way to stay on my soft side."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"Where does he live, if you spent the night there?"

"Em… S-something… uh… Spin place, I think."

"Spinner's End, actually."

"How do _you_ know where he lives?"

"We were friends at Hogwarts. My parents live right around the corner."

"Why do you not believe me?"

Lily then looked at me straight in the eyes, her powerful green eyes radiating into mine, her face as stoic as a tiger about to pounce on it's prey.

"Did you sleep with someone else?"

"No!"

"Did you go to a dodgy club?"

"No!"

"Did you kiss someone else?"

"No…"

We are practically nose-to-nose now. Her breath is on my chin.

"Did you cheat on me?"

"No!"

"Then why are your nostrils flared?"

Instinctively, before I can stop myself, my hand lifts to my nose, where my nostrils are as wide as wings on a plane. "I… Lily… wait!

But she's already turned her back on me.


	6. Chapter 6: The Home

**A/N: **There's a lot of drama in this chapter. Be warned.

WARNING: This chapter also features a specific pairing **other than JP/SS**. If you don't like the pairing, I really don't care so don't comment about it. If you have a specific comment about how I used the pairing in my story, however, feel free to leave a post. I'm not telling you now because I don't want to spoil it, but I _have_ alluded to this pairing in the past.

**Frayedsoul**- Aww! Gee thanks, sorry I had to go and die in October.

* * *

I sniffed into the cold night air, staring into the hedgerow where Lily had once been. My eyes are watering slightly from the cold. From the _cold_. I'm not going to cry. I'm not. I'm not going to cry. 

My vain attempts to chase after her have gone; she already apparated by the time I reached the gate.

I just fucked up.

I feel suddenly like a black hole is sucking me down into the moss, like every thought that I _should_ have had about Lily in the past few weeks has flooded my mind.

Did she just… finally… say "no"…?

No cottage with Lily and a family of four. No Christmas dinner with grandchildren on my knee. No glorious wedding. No babies with green eyes. No… none of my schoolboy fantasies with a honeymoon with Lily Evans. No Lily Potter.

What was I _thinking_? Of course I cheated on her! And now I've gone and lied about it. Now she thinks that I've been off with some slimy girl from the whorehouse when really it's only Severus.

Only Severus…

Somewhere inside of me, inside some intuitive, gooey, emotional tumor in my brain there's something that tells me that she wouldn't mind as much if she knew it was Severus. But the rational side of my brain simply thinks that… that is bollocks. If she knew that she'd know I was bent! _Am_ I bent?

Oddly enough, it's never really been a question I've clearly asked myself. I sort of just fell for Snape and the gay thing was really secondary. I mean, for heavens sake, Gerado's Bar! I don't _belong_ there! Although, that waiter was sort of cute… with the turban… and the… and the…

Bloody hell!

I pace the flower garden at break-neck speed back and forth, heat rising in my chest and face. I must be gay; I've been necking with Snape all afternoon! But this makes no sense at all! How can I say that I'm gay! I'm the Hogwarts golden boy, Head boy, top of my class, quidditch star, all-time jock of the place. How could I be both gay and that? But with a guilty stab I think of Sirius. He's gay, and a great guy, and a good friend…

That's it. If I want to know whether I'm gay or not, I should ask someone who'd know.

* * *

"SIRIUS!" I yell into the green flames. 

I see the inside of his horribly messy flat. I thought gay men were supposed to be neat, but then again I shouldn't expect him to change since he just came out mere days ago. A lump on the bed shows that he's here, sleeping and ignoring me.

"PADS! PADDY! PADFOOT!"

A groan comes from said lump, which rolls and turns.

"Wh-A-at?" whines Sirius.

"I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!"

"Obviously…" says Sirius. He craws, wrapping his down blanket around him like a shawl. I can't help but wince as I see his bare fleet hit the cold hardwood floor.

"Why are you sleeping so early?"

"Cause I have to work later…" he mutters. "What do you want?"

"Sirius… do you think… am I…"

I can't form the words. Even though this is my best friend, and he's gay, and I shouldn't feel ashamed at all, I feel my face flush with embarrassment.

"Wait a minute!" He cuts across me. "I'm mad at you!"

"You _are_?" I pretend to be surprised. "Why?"

His face pouts ever so slightly, "I forgot."

"Oh."

"But it was _important_."

"Sirius…" I whisper. "Old friend, old buddy, old pal…"

"What?" he growls.

"Can you just… continue to pretend that you can't remember why you're mad at me for another five minutes or so? I really need your help, your advice," I mutter into the ash.

He rolls his eyes. "Why don't you come over?"

I run into the other room at tell my mother that I'll be back by dinner and to not wait up for me, and leap into the flames. Floo powder is quite convenient. Well, compared to subways at least.

"Ouch," I brush off the dust onto his floor haphazardly. He has two cups of smoking hot tea out on his television stand already.

"Why did you tell Lily I was cheating on her?"

Sirius smiled. The man is completely unabashed. "I was just tearing the micky out of her. She was going _on_ and _on_ about how much of a _wonderful _boyfriend you were. I just said a snide comment to the effect of 'yeah, he's wonderful especially when he's cheating on you'. I didn't mean… Snape… really…"

"Yeah, well now she definitely thinks I'm cheating on her."

Sirius tilts his head to one side, like a dog, "That's sort of silly. I was only…"

"She said Remus said it too. She said she heard I was cheating on her from a _reliable source_."

"Oh… definitely not me, then," Sirius stirs lemon into his tea, staring into his lap, still wrapped in the blanket-shawl. "I'm not sure what that's all about… but… to be honest with you… Remus has been acting strange lately."

"Yeah?" I pry.

Sirius swallows. He stares off into the distance, eyebrows pinched together. "Well, he didn't react very well when I told him I was gay," he says.

Oh, so he _did_ tell him. I didn't expect him to react very well at all. The way he looked at Snape and I together…

"Sorry, mate. He'll come around, I'm sure."

Sirius stirs his tea laboriously slow, with all of the proper posture that his mother taught him when he was five. Even now that he is a muggle-loving rocker, his back is still as straight as an arrow. She beat it into him. I remember the stories Sirius used to tell me, about the books on his head and the weights on his wrists. Maybe she thought that if she beat his back until it was straight, he would stop being gay. "It's just that he treats me weirdly, you know. Now that I've come out."

"He was bound to treat you differently…"

"I think that he was freaked out. Like he thought… he thought… that I had a crush on him or something." He then finally looks up from his lemony tea with a fire in his eyes. "Which I_ didn't_!"

"Surely no…"

"Not once in school did I come on to him!"

"Of course you didn't."

"I never tried to… not _ever_…"

I swallow, trying to find the most sensitive words. How can I explain bigotry delicately? "Maybe he was just nervous about being naked in front of you, after the full moon. Maybe he though when you snuggled up to him as Padfoot the dog, you were enjoying it more as Sirius the human."

Sirius stares, mouth unattractively agape. "I'm _not_…"

"I'm not saying that you are…"

"But I just was…"

"I'm just saying what it's like from Remus' perspective."

"I was just trying to _help_," Sirius whimpers.

That last word sounded like the strangled notes I've heard from caged puppies in pet stores. His eyes are tearing up. His bottom lip wriggles ever so slightly. Oh, bother.

"He's my _friend_! Am I not allowed to help my _friend_ just 'cause I'm _gay_?"

"Pads…" I say soothingly, patting his arm. Oh, dear. "Now, Pads. I'm not saying that he's…"

Desperately, I try to get him to calm down. This isn't really like him, to get so emotional. I think of the couple tears that Severus had shown on top of the Warehouse, and the situation feels completely dissimilar. Maybe that's due to lack of marijuana smoke…

"Maybe I _did_!"

My eyes grow wide. I can do nothing to politely hide my shock. "Did... what?" I whisper.

"MAYBE I LIKED HIM! Okay? And I tried every day to hide it and I never let on even though it was _killing me_! And when I thought of becoming an animagus… it was because I just wanted to be near him… to help him! I couldn't watch him _suffer_ like that!"

Oh Dear God.

"And! I! DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT! YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE! I had to sit there and see him walk out of the shower all soapy and wet and see the GOD DAMN droplets running down his GOD DAMN BODY! And I couldn't look away cause then he'd _know_." He's breaking between every other word to let out a fresh sob. "I had to learn not to blush. And you know how he is! All the _pushing_, and the _pressing_, and the _hugging_! And I _couldn't__ hide_ from it, cause… I _love _him…"

Love him? You mean… not just crush? _Love_ him?

Sirius has tears running down his chin now, so sad and pathetic, and I've never felt more awkward in my entire life. How long has he been holding this in?

"SNAPE KNEW!"

"What?"

"He KNEW. Re-re-remember when h-he said he knew I was gay since he was fifteen?"

"I… thought he was just being and asshole…"

"No…" Sirius swallows thickly, grabbing a tissue finally and dabbing his face with it. "H-he really knew b-because he found my diary."

"You had a _diary_?" I mutter, adding this to the list of things to tease him about after he's calmed down a bit.

"It had everything. This really, really girly passage about how pretty his hair was and how much I wanted to _kiss_ him." He hiccups, slowly calming down. "I threatened him. I jinxed him a few times, and I told you I was bored more often so you would pick on him more" (with a guilty stab I can pinpoint exactly which month of school he's talking about too. For Merlin's sake, he used me as a tool? To get back at Snape?) "And then… I told him how to get into the Whomping Willow and…"

I knew the rest of the story too.

For some reason it is my initial reaction to defend him, "But he never told anyone. I mean he told me that… he had a _feeling_ you were gay… not that he _knew_."

"Shut up, James. You wouldn't have believed him."

Well, true.

"He told Lily."

"That's no big deal. Lily's kind."

"Yeah. Fuckin' kind." His gray eyes cloud over with a darkness and a dislike that I never realized he had had for my girlfriend. "You don't know how many times she's told me to get over it and move on to somebody else. '_Maybe you can find a nice girl to settle down with, Siri_'," says Sirius in a mean, but accurate impression of Lily's voice.

"Oh…" I whisper, in what I hope is an understanding moan, knowing full well that that was simply out of the question. "Oh,_ Sirius_."

He sniffles.

"I'm pathetic."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am." He buries his head in the blankets, ashamedly sobbing into the thick fabric. "You know those girly posters that I use to have in my old room?"

"The muggle ones that pissed of your mom?" I smile. "Yeah, that was awesome!"

"I!" He cries. "I spelled them."

"What?"

"If you tap the pictures three times it turns into Remus. In… lewd positions."

"Oh… oh…" I can't help but blush crimson. That _is_ quite like a stalker. "Yeah, that is a little pathetic, Pads."

He snorts into his blankets. Sitting up, he stares at me. "And I wanted to tell Remus. Just to you know… let it out. But he's treating me so _badly already_! I haven't even told him and he's treating me like dog shit. I'm so _pathetic_."

"Pads… I'm going to ask a question and you're going to answer me."

"Okay…"

"Do you love him?"

He stares at me with his wide, pale eyes, tears still hanging off his eye lashes. His face is a puffball from crying so much.

"I don't…"

"Because if you just have an infatuation then you'll be fine, I mean, eventually you'll get over it."

He whimpers.

"But if you're in love with him that's another story."

Though I'm looking straight into my best friend's eyes, wide and terrified, my mind's eye flashes to Severus' beautiful and disconcerting smile.

The man cries out in pain and doubles over, hands in his face. "I don't know! I don't know!" I pat him on the back, sensing that Sirius really does know, but he doesn't want to admit that he loves the man who has rejected him. Poor Padfoot, he's probably wanted to tell someone for years. Lily apparently wasn't any help at all. And Snape, he would just grin darkly like the Slytherin he is… but I wonder why Severus had never told anyone. I suppose I should ask him eventually… though it was probably because no one would have believed him anyway…

It feels like a giant, oppressive weight has been lifted off of my friend's shoulders, and placed on mine, pushing me slowly away from Moony. Remus is such a jerk.

"I know. It's ok," I pat him carefully between the shoulder blades. I don't know why Remus is being so mean to him. I mean at the very least he could be _sensitive_ to his feelings. After all it _was_ Sirius who suggested being animagus, he was the first to accept he was a werewolf, and he always defended him, even when he was being a prissy, stuck-up, snotty, prefect asshole. Sirius' sobs a slower and softer. This poor pathetic thing…

I suddenly feel like kissing Severus again. Couldn't tell you why.

Sirius, his poor puppy-dog face, looks up at me, "I'm sorry J-James."

"Why? You don't have to be sorry for anything."

"I'm just an idiot."

I pat him on the head. "Don't worry I'm used to it."

"Bastard."

I pat his head again in what I think is a soothing gesture. "And here I thought _I_ was going to be the one to break down."

"Really," Sirius bats at his eyelashes again, hiccupping slowly, "Why?"

"It's not important." And looking into his very red, tear-stained face, I know I'm right. It's not important.

Sirius' face scrunches. He bites his lip. "Why?"

I realize then, as I'm staring into his gray eyes, that I've never had the sort of problems that Sirius had. Sirius told me that he always knew he was gay, and just didn't want to admit it. The only instance that I questioned my sexuality was nearly a half an hour ago. I've never felt ashamed or nervous around people of my sex. I had to shower with guys all the time for quidditch. My teammates were what girls thought of as attractive and I had full view of their parts numerous times. I never got hard or anything… And it was just as Sirius described them, all soapy and wet and naked. I was just brazen and happy to win a game. I never had a crush on a guy or anything, besides Severus. If you can call that a crush…

"Tell me…"

I think for a second about saying aloud, "I think I might be gay". But the words are so feeble that they don't even make it past my throat.

"It's nothing really. I'm just worried about Lily, is all…"

Sirius' nostrils twitch. He knows I'm lying.

"Well if you want to talk about it, I'm here, you know…"

I stare at him.

* * *

I sigh, the most oppressed and exhausted sigh that I can possibly muster, as I sit down at the dinner table nearly an hour later. This immediately attracts the attention of my mother, who is elegantly pouring gravy on her Shepard's pie with one arthritis-inflicted hand. "Oh, what's _wrong_, Jamie?" she pats my arm. I pout childishly. God, I love the attention. "Is it anything to do with Lily, darling?"

One of Father's black eyes emerge from the side of his evening_ Prophet_.

I spoon some of the pie onto my plate and sigh again, this time far less honestly and far more for show. "I'm just sick of all the drama."

My father grins, the side of his gray beard twisting upwards. He disappears behind the _Prophet_ once more, as if to say, "Aren't we all".

"What is it, pumpkin?" Mother grips my wrist. I love the way she babies me. Honestly, I am a spoiled brat sometimes. But not necessarily for money (besides that new broom, the Nimbus, that they once got me for Christmas, which I heard was around 1500 galleons), it's really that I want the attention and the love and the _being noticed_. Not like how Lily treats me, who doesn't understand or forgive my mistakes, not like how Sirius treats me, like someone merely to talk about _his _problems with, not even like… Severus… who might love me but bottles up his emotions into awkward hugs and sarcasm. A mother notices you and loves you unconditionally.

It must be really hard to be a parent.

"Lily's mad at me," I say. "And Sirius is gay."

"I _know_,darling." She says, patting my arm again and resuming to her Shepard's pie, as if to say, "that's not news to us."

"But now she's _really_ mad at me. She thinks I'm going off with some woman. And Sirius has had a crush on Remus for five years-"

I'm cut off by a collective gasp. My mother drops the gravy along the side of her arm. My father spits his pumpkin juice into the article that he had been reading.

"_James_! Do NOT insult Sirius in that way!" my mother shouts.

"I'm not insulting him, Mother. It's the truth."

There is a pause, and then, "That's disgusting!" Father says.

The room rings with silence. I hold my breath when I see my father's eyebrows pinched and a frown stretching his goatee.

"I can't believe how much you hung around that boy," he grimaces.

My jaw hangs loose. "F-father… you _can't_…" I can't believe it. Dad always loved Sirius. He welcomed him into his house after he was kicked out of Grimmauld place. They talked about quidditch nearly every day during the summer.

"He's just weird. Jamie, I'm sorry, but that's just _weird_."

"Dad!"

My eyes widen as far as possible, finally seeing for the first time, how very _old_ my father is. He's never been like this before, so conservative and hard headed. Usually he tries to understand. "You seemed to be OK with it when Sirius came out a few nights ago, but maybe you've already _forgotten_."

Ooooh, I'm in trouble. Dad's face is contorted with complicated emotions, disgust with Sirius, hurt from what I just said, blown over from the fact that I said it, and something else too… childish, humiliated, and insecure. It's unnerving.

"Dad…" I whisper, "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

I shouldn't have brought up his disability at the table. Now I just feel terrible as my father stares down at his plate and chews his mashed potatoes slowly. He chokes back his emotions, at a loss for what to say.

He gives me a disheartened look without saying anything. But his defiant, teenager-like eyes are communicating everything. _You think I'm pathetic? Well, yes. I'm growing old. If you're lucky you will one day too._

"But don't pick on Sirius. He's had a rough time."

"I'm sorry too," He wriggles in his wheel chair, "Let's talk about something else."

"I'm worried about you and Lily," says Mum, playing by Dad's lead.

"I can handle it."

I swallow my potatoes and gravy with difficulty because my mouth is so dry. I gulp down nearly my entire glass of pumpkin juice. All thoughts of admitting to my mother and father about my odd, exciting, atypical relationship with Severus have been completely wiped away by how my father just reacted to Sirius. I always thought of my father as a liberal, accepting person most of the time. Perhaps maybe my dad is afraid that Sirius had a crush on _me _once… perhaps when it's your own child… everything changes.

"I know you can, dear, but…" My mother's dark eyes are bearing into me. It's as if she can read everything in my expression. She looks hesitantly at my father who his coughing into a napkin and then gives me a small grin. "If you need to tell us anything about a new special someone… don't hesitate to ask advice."

"Mum… don't…."

"I mean… we still love Sirius…"

My father frowns.

"It's just that we find it strange that he's held this in without saying anything, or telling us, right William?"

Dad looks at a loss, "Well… yes…"

Both of the men at the table are raising their eyebrows at this remarkable woman.

"But if you don't want to talk about it, that's just fine."

Mother beams at me.

I blush and risk a glance at my father, who is staring at the ceiling with a slight tinge to his cheeks.

"Mum. You're…"

"Yes?"

"You're being silly."

She smiles again, but this time it's much more hollow, much more like that was she expected, much more like I've disappointed her. "Perhaps I am," she says.

I stare at my lap.

To my great surprise, it is my father's voice that coughs awkwardly and mutters, "You know, Jamie, if there's anything you need to talk about, we're here," This is taking a lot from him, he never says things that are so sentimental. Maybe it's the way Mum is looking at him. "Don't take my reaction to Sirius as how I'd react to you."

My guts feel like they've hollowed out. "You think I'm gay?"

My dad's eyes widen in horror. He musters a glance at his wife for backup.

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you did… you just said…"

"Jamie, calm down," Mother says, rolling her eyes. "Don't have a bloody heart attack. We're not saying that."

"_I_'_m_ not going to have a… but you just _said_…"

My father blushes. Merlin's balls is he having a difficult time. "We're not saying that you're gay… we're saying that you're…" Oh dear. What am I? My father has never been a sensitive man and he frequently says things that hurt other's feelings. But now he's taking his time, trying to form the right words. Becoming kind and sweet has always been difficult for an insensitive man like my father. So regardless of the time he takes I brace myself for what he is about to say. Effeminate? Fruity? Eccentric? Strange?

"Well. You've always been flirtatious."

Huh? "Flirtatious? Is that code for gay?"

"Well, no," my father is smiling now. I suppose that's a good sign, but predictably I know that now he'll begin making fun of me. "Even when you were little, you flirted with everyone, boy or girl."

"You can't _flirt_ when you're little, Dad."

His smile falters. "But most boys and girls hang around children of the same sex. I've read about it. Psychosexual stages and all that. But you were… unnaturally mature for your age. You hung around both boys and girls. You would pull girls hair, but you would also play tag with other boys."

"Isn't that normal?"

"Well…" Dad looks at my mother at a loss.

"Of course it is darling," she pats my head.

She's lying.

"Son, I'm not saying that I expected you to turn out gay or any nonsense like that. I mean there are some blokes that you can just look at them and you say," He points to an invisible queer across the table. "_That_ guy is bent. I'm not saying that Sirius is one of those lads, but I could sense that he was gay before he told me."

"Dad! I feel awkward having this conversation with you."

He blunders on, ignoring my pleas, "But you don't strike me as one of those blokes. But I mean, if you want to _experiment_, go right ahead."

"Dad! Stop it! You're being weird!" My eyes feel as wide as tennis balls.

"Oh, Jamie," Mum smiles. "It's ok. You can talk about this with us. We changed your diapers after all."

"Ok. Just stop it."

"But if…" Dad starts.

"Stop!"

Oh, Merlin's balls. Both of my parents are staring at me with a wide grin. Then they look at each other and they seem like they can't stop laughing on the inside.

I begin to wolf down my food, trying to get away from the table as quickly as possible.

Dad lifts his paper, trying and failing to suppress a grin. "It just so happens that we personally know the bartender at Speakeasy's."

It's a miracle that I didn't vomit right there.

That guy saw me kissing Snape.

Horrified, I turn to my mother, who is smiling benignly. Here I took her guesses as mere intuition. Dad beams victorious, and lifts his paper.

I can feel myself visibly shivering, "Mum… are you? Did you say?"

"Yes, dear?" She asks, pouring herself tea as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do at that moment.

"Did the guy say _who_ I was… was…" Kissing. I can't say the word.

I can't believe they found out. Within the _day_! This was supposed to stay secret!

She glances at Father, who lowers his paper again. "Er… no," he says, a questioning tone in his voice, "he only said that you were necking with some man that looked somewhat like a woman."

Ha! That's funny. I have to tell Snape that at a later date, "Oh."

"But we would _love _to meet him, Jamie," My mother says, gripping my wrist. Her eyes are practically aglow with interest and love. It's the same look she gets on her face when we talk about possible grandchildren. I love my mother.

"Really?"

"Of course," my father says. Finally he folds his paper and sips at his tea.

"I'm sure he's a very nice young man," says Mum.

"But…" They can't meet Snape. They _know _Snape already. I have to wriggle out of this idea quickly. Maybe if I change tact, "But why did you react that way to Sirius, then?" I ask my father, fury and surprise welling up in my heart.

Father rolls his eyes, "Yes, I did. That's because he liked _Remus_ all throughout school."

"Yes, and?"

"James. Really. He's probably been obsessing over Remus for years."

"Five years."

"Yes. Precisely. It's simply not right to not confess your feelings for that long, friend or not. I mean he probably had nudey pictures of Remus hanging all around his room."

I blush, but I don't want to admit that Sirius _already_ admitted that.

"I mean. It's silly. Sirius needs to respect himself enough to confess his feelings and be adult enough to handle it if Remus doesn't return them. It has nothing to do with being gay."

"Sure."

"It doesn't. And," suddenly my father points his crooked finger right at my nose. "I _will_ be mad at you if you don't tell that Evans girl about this. That's dishonorable. There's not reason to be queer _and_ dishonorable."

I swallow, "Yes sir."

I don't know whether to be angry at his still overly fatherly tone (as if he owns my life, _pft_), to be surprised that he finds Sirius dishonorable, or to be glad that he's sticking up for Lily. Mostly I'm thankful, really. Thankful my father understands how I feel, and can still give me advice on what is right. I know that he's right. I really should tell Lily. I don't want to break up with her, but… it's the right thing to do, like Dad says.

I can't hold it in. I have to tell them what's on my mind. "I don't want you to meet him yet. It's too early," I say softly, and finish my greens.

"Why? How long has this been going on?" Mom asks. The napkin at her chest bobs as she bounces in excitement and wonder.

I look at the ceiling to avoid her gossip-trained gaze and count in my head. Well, last Friday was when… but that really wasn't a date… "Less that a week."

Both my mother and father exhale a breath they had been holding. My father begins to read the paper again, muttering to my mother, "Well, at least he's not _completely_ immoral."

Mum smiles.

When I get up from the dinner table, I feel like I've left a great ball of stress that had been hanging around in my chest in the middle of the mashed potatoes. Gimmlly quietly and elegantly takes my plate before I even notice her presence. I mutter a "thanks" and shuffle out the room, but only go as far as the door.

I listen in at the keyhole like how I did every night when I was ten.

"That went well," my father says, flipping a page in his paper. "Gimmly, while you're here, could you bring me a coffee?"

"Yes, sir," Gimmly says in her frail voice.

"Oh, and a Baileys would be good for me, too."

"Yes, madam," says Gimmly.

That old coot. The healers told her not to drink. I suppose I should stop her, but whose to deny an old lady her pleasures? I can't even stop her from dancing. I just continue to walk the well-worn path up to my room.

Even though I feel much better after talking all this over with my parents, I'm not one hundred percent at ease. I'm still worried about Remus and his coldness toward Sirius. I'm worried about Sirius and his… I'm afraid he had phrased it accurately…_patheticness_. No wonder the man has so many problems. I'm still worried about him and drugs, thought that topic had not been discussed in today's conversation. I'm worried about Lils, but I'm still not ready to talk to her about this yet. Maybe tomorrow. I'm worried about my parents, of course, that won't change. Even in the very back of my brain I feel guilty that I said I'd be babysitting Barry again and I know that I won't be. The poor kid will probably have his heart broken.

In fact, the only person I'm _not_ worried about is Severus.

Nope. Severus is doing just fine.

I can't even get myself worked up about his alleged "birth control" pills or his rumored alliance with death eaters. It's not important.

Out of all of the people I know Severus is the least dramatic… I mean he's positively low key. Maybe that's why I like him so much.

He's just too calm, too serene, too humble to bother himself with any of this mess. He likes gossip, especially talking about Sirius and Remus behind their backs, but it's a mocking sort of gossip. Like he's saying, look at these people, they're so full of themselves that they can't even function. Isn't that silly?

He must have really hated me at Hogwarts. I was all about making useless drama. Why did I make drama? I think it was truly out of boredom. It was just so much fun calling Bertha Jorkins fat.

But I was wrong. I was always wrong. I can't deal or cope with it now because I'm just too _tired_.

I can't believe how far our relationship has come. From, "Look at that little freak. Why isn't he playing along?" to, "You're really wonderful, aren't you?" I think I must actually love him. It might be possible. Though, I'm nowhere near admitting that.

I'm not worried about telling him that my parents know about us. I just have a feeling he'll just shrug it off coolly, not saying that he doesn't care, just that he doesn't… care…

I can't wait to see him on Friday. Maybe we'll go to the Warehouse and get smashed again.

Thursday passes by at a glance and I don't even bother trying to find Lily. Mum says that I should send her flowers. But the fact that I've thought about sending her flowers makes me feel better about… not… sending her flowers. I think the woman expects me to beg for her forgiveness. I really don't have the energy or care to do that. Maybe I'll just let her stew in her own juices for a while. Let her question whether or not she can really trust me. Better yet even, maybe she'll flirt with other guys only to discover how much better I am compared to them. Ha!

I went to the office around three. The Auror department has given me some paperwork to do for them. They're a little overworked lately. Crouch has everyone working overtime. It's just legal stuff and compiling data, but I have a feeling what I'm doing will really help them in war.

When I sleep, I dream of Severus. We're fishing for miniature death eaters with golden pot leaves.

I sleep in till noon, but when I've finally dusted myself off and grubbily brush my teeth my mother's voice echoes down the hall, "James! There's somebody here to see you!" I groan into my toothbrush. It must be Lils. Back already? Really I expected her to stay mad at me for at least a week.

I pull on trousers and run a comb through my hair. It does nothing.

As I run down the stairs, my feet feeling the comfortable itchiness of the red carpet, I hear a voice that almost sends me careening into space.

"Thank you very much for the tea, Mrs. Potter," says Severus.


	7. Chapter 7: The Sanctuary

**Audriella**- Can't wait? Well that's good because you reviewed right before I posted. Heh.

**SheElf**- Don't worry about any delay, as I've been known to delay more than anyone! As for Remus, he might get hit on the head with a big brick of reality eventually. But now… he remains to be in denial.

**frayedsoul- **I'm glad you want to see more of them together! It's like I'm addicted to those two, though I feel like we should get to know some other characters too. Like Lily, heh. To answer your question about James: that's because he's a spoiled brat and he thinks he can have both. No, not just that… he feels conflicted between the feelings he has for the two of them. But he is one of those people that deny and repress their major problems in favor of temporary happiness. Perhaps you know someone like that, I know I do. So all you really see is a jumbled bit of self-dialogue when in fact he is terribly conflicted.

* * *

"Thank you very much for the tea, Mrs. Potter," says Severus

Severus?

"You're welcome dear," my mum's voice echoes against the white walls of the hall. My breath catches in my throat. What could he possibly be doing here? I don't look at all attractive… they're bags under my eyes and my hair is still so askew. I haven't taken a bath in a few days…

My mother grins at me from the bottom of the stairs.

I slowly climb down the old woodwork, my toes feeling entirely more naked that a few seconds ago. I should have really put a shirt on. There are goose bumps on my naked shoulders.

Severus has his back to me, slumped over his lap, where he is adding dollops of cream to the china teacup, legs crossed in a masculine and wide position.

"Oh, look at you!" My mother scolds, running her fingers through my hair (she has to stand on tip-toe to reach the back of my head).

Severus turns, slowly. One eyetooth pokes out of his smile. Something is so unbearably _honest_ in his grin. What can it be? Appreciation? Respect? Relief? I haven't seen a grin so honest since… well… since I've seen him last.

"James? Is something wrong?" Mother asks me.

It is until that moment that I hadn't been smiling back at all. I was just staring, like how a critic at an art museum would study a joyous masterpiece. I grimace into a grin, the corner of my lips twitching upwards.

"Is it hot down here? Honey, your face is flushing."

And even after she says that I can stop the warmth from spreading all the way down my neck onto my chest. Severus' eyes twinkle.

"What are you doing here?" I ask hoarsely.

"Having tea," says Severus.

Thank you Captain Obvious. "I mean besides that."

"I was wondering if you could help me with something. But you don't have to now. You should stay and have breakfast first."

That's not vague at all. I bloody hope he doesn't expect to make out with me in my room or something. That would be awkward. Maybe he wants advice. Or maybe he just wants to hang around, I mean, how many other friends does he have?

"Your mother is an excellent cook," says Severus, smiling at my attempts to deduce what is going on. His grin is less honest now, more mischievous.

My mother flushes too. Now I know where I get it from, "Have another, Mr. Snape!" She nearly flings the basket of scones at him.

"Don't mind if I do," his limp wrist collects a strawberry and vanilla scone. "Oh, and you don't have to call me by my surname. Severus is fine."

Why, that's a little _too_ informal for my tastes.

But my mother's eyes suddenly narrow. Her reasoning is reflected through her pupils. "You're the one James used to pick on at school."

I hadn't expected Mum to remember that, and by his glance at me, probably neither did Severus.

"He also saved my life," he mutters.

Halfway through biting a raspberry scone I look at him. The sound in his voice is so positively thankful.

"Oh, that was nothing, Snape. Really. It doesn't excuse me picking on you." I try to make it clear that these things are separate from the person I am now. Severus scoots in his chair.

"It's in the past."

Mum wriggles a napkin in her hands.

"Plus I know the real reason why he picked on me. He teased me because he _liked_ me…" Severus lifts his chin impressively.

Mum is laughing, but her eyes are as wide as galleons.

Severus. You idiot. It'll only take her seconds to deduce that this is the young-man-that-looks-like-a-female that I kissed.

He has a haughty sort of grin, clearly oblivious to my mother's assumption of his sexuality.

"Sure… _Sure_… Snape…" I think quickly for what I can say to cover this up, "I liked you. Liked you while your nose was growing two times the side of your head. Or better yet with a purple afro."

He just grins. "Whatever you say, we both know you had a secret crush on me."

I glance at my mother, who is staring blankly and confusedly at him. Surely she's thinking, _is he merely being sarcastic_?

Well I don't think he's being sarcastic. And it's really a low shot to my ego.

Severus drinks the tea with terrible posture and one pinky out.

I feel like growling at him. I did _not_ have a crush on him at Hogwarts. I mean, nearly every day I had him hanging by his feet upside-down with his pants down…

…Oh boy.

He glances at me from behind his half-eaten scone.

"Is there a reason you just happen to know where I live?" I bark.

"Looked it up in the Hogwarts Alumni registry."

Oh, really? He was that desperate to see me? Hmm… when I take him upstairs I'll let him know _exactly_ how much I liked him during school. Heh.

"I'm sorry to just intrude," says Severus.

Is he?

"It's just that I didn't know who to turn to," he whispers.

Huh?

"If you want to go somewhere more private, I can show you what my problem is."

_Somewhere more private_? Snape! Why don't you just write an "I'm gay with your son" poster and stick in on your chest?

I shovel down a scone, "Kay."

I mutter a "thanks" to my mother, and shuffle up the steps to my room. When I get there I half-expect Severus to whip his jeans off.

"Sorry I had to come here," he whispers to me. "I just didn't know where to-"

"I'm not gonna give you a blow job."

"Sorry?"

"It's too awkward here, at my house, we'll have to go someplace el-"

"I don't want a blow job right now you vain jock!"

To my surprise, he lifts his pant-leg to the knee.

And what I see makes me gasp involuntarily.

A snake, decorated by black stars aligns the crook of his ankle. It sits there, as large as the palm of my hand. The coarse black hair that spots the rest of his leg is absent on this odd, quivering tattoo. The skin is red and blotchy around his ankle, as if the skin has been singed off.

Where an Eye should be, is a scabby, infected hole. I shiver. "What happened?"

I try to touch the head with a tip of my finger, and magically the snake moves away. The whole tattoo wriggles, and the head, including the wound-for-an-eye moves across his skin. I hear a hiss, and at first I think that it is coming from the snake, which is so life-like that it appears to be just below the surface of his skin, but then I realize that it's coming from Severus. I watch in awe as the wound reforms across his skin as the snake moves its eye, sending his hot blood dribbling down his foot.

"Please don't do that," he whispers.

"Shit, Severus. I'm sorry." I pull out a clean white cloth, "Does it only do that at human touch?"

"So far, yes," Snape is gritting his teeth as the snake continues to wriggle.

Quickly I run to the bathroom and run the cloth under hot water. When I return he is sitting on the bed a holding is leg out at an angle. I slowly wipe the blood off of his foot. He sighs as if it's the greatest feeling in the world.

"This is an interesting twist on the Serpastra Curse. I would never think to implant it on someone's skin… how horrible," I mutter to myself as I rub the cloth over the snake and the eye. I can feel it move underneath my fingertips. "Why have you not seen a healer?"

"They would ask questions," Severus hides his face behind locks of dark hair.

"That implies that I _won't_ ask questions."

He frowns.

"When did it happen?"

"Last night."

"Did you attempt at healing yourself?"

"I did. I used steamed hellebore."

"That wouldn't work. It would just make the skin more irritated."

"Evidently."

I stare at him. "Why have you come to me?"

Severus' bottom lip quivers. His eyes are wide and childish. "Because you were the top of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, besides me. You would know what to do. And I trust you."

"Do you?" I stare down at his ankle, studying the celtic knots that align the stars. "Are you going to tell me why someone would do this to you?"

"I insulted Bellatrix."

That'll do it. "Why are you hanging around Sirius' deranged cousin? Pft… we won't worry about that now. Not until we get this healed, or at least to stop growing. I'm assuming it _has_ grown since last night."

"Yeah," He lifts his eyebrows, impressed, "It was about the size of a knut."

"I'm going to need help."

He nods. "Whatever you need."

I head to the door, creating a list of texts and things that I will need, when I hear a very small voice saying, "Thank you, James."

I love the way he says my name. "Of course."

* * *

When my father bends over Severus' foot, lifting his round glasses up his nose, he lets out a cry of academic shock. "This is_incredible_!"

"Er… thanks?" says Snape.

"It doesn't seem to be just a Serpastra curse, though, Dad," I mutter, leaning over his wheelchair. "It seems like it's another curse added to it, too."

He rubs his beard at the corners of his lips. "Something about it seems… oriental."

Snape cricks his neck sideways.

"Oriental?" I ask.

"Yes… The Serpastra curse does not burn itself on the skin, but a few eastern curses could do that. I've seen a few ancient serpent tattoos in my Chinese texts. I tend to think that this was a very important thing in their culture. This is a clever combination of the two spells. One is a curse. The other is an aesthetic spell for tattooing. Moreover, the snake is not completely encased in the stars. So I tend to think that the person that did this has a positive attitude toward snakes, rather than your regular, negative Judeo-Christian one."

"So you're saying that the person who did this is _complimenting_ Snape?" I ask incredulously. "By labeling him with a favored icon?" That makes no sense with the rest of Snape's story.

"No. Look at the eye!" My father points to Snape's wound, which has stopped bleeding but still is red and raw. "It's a _blind_ snake!"

"You think that…" Severus licks his lips. "You think that this person is telling me that I _could_ be an ally if I wasn't blinded by… by something?"

Father pauses, taking a moment to stare into the eyes of this distressed young man before him, as if seeing him properly for the first time. "I'm not sure as to the meaning of all this," says Father. "After all I can't get into the mind of a vicious person like this one." He waves at Severus' foot. "All I'm saying that we will need to combine Eastern and Western medicine in order to heal and Eastern and Western curse."

"What do you suggest?" I ask.

"Perhaps a form of acupuncture… and a Cernunnos spell might do the trick."

"I'm afraid of needles," Snape whines.

"It's not that bad," I try to reassure him. "Dad knows what he's doing, and I know the Cernunnos spell pretty well."

"There's no promise that this will work," Father mutters into his beard, "and that eye has me worried. I think the wound might have to stay. You'll have to deal with some scarring."

"Whatever works. I can deal with scarring. It makes me more attractive anyway."

Before I can stop myself I whisper, "No it doesn't."

It's a few seconds long, but I can catch my father's eyes wander from me to Snape with interest. Buggar, now Dad knows too. "Before we do anything else," he goes on, "some Veratrum Album cream should be rubbed on the inflated skin. That will reverse the effects of the hellebore and stop some of the swelling. I'll go fetch it."

"Are you sure, Father?" I ask, eyeing his bulky wheelchair hesitantly.

He waves me off with the back of his wrist.

"But you might also want to check, James, to see if the star markings are anywhere else on his body… that spell is strange. They sometimes like to… wander," His eyes twinkle mysteriously.

"Alright, Dad," I say obediently. When he's gone I order Snape, "Take your clothes off."

"James I'm really not in the mood."

"I have to check to make sure the curse hasn't spread. Do you remember how many stars there were when you first were hit by the curse?" I ask him.

Severus sighs, "I was a little distracted by the untouchable gaping hole in my ankle to notice the stars, James."

He's saying my name much more often; it's hard to keep up this professional persona.

"I respect your privacy and all that, but we need to see if there are any wandering stars on your body. Do you think you could…"

To my astonishment, Severus begins unbuttoning his black shirt down to the waist. I try my best to withhold a gasp. How did I not notice this when I saw him take off his shirt on Wednesday? That's right, I didn't have my glasses on.

Severus apparently is… a tattoo junkie.

His back is aligned with a black dragon, its wing spanning across his shoulder blade. Its fangs are completely still, but I notice that its pearly white eyes blink from time to time. A Celtic knot decorates his slim waist, right before the hipbone. He turns slowly, eyeing me as I study for anything unusual.

The bulge of muscle below his shoulder is ensnared by black, thorny vines, which crawl along his collarbone and ends in a beautiful flower on his breast. I think it might be a lily. A phrase "Momentum Mori" circles underneath his bellybutton. I reach out to touch it, and the tip of my fingers graze against the hairless flesh of his abdomen. It's so warm…

He coughs loudly, taking me out of my reverie.

I blush again. "I… don't see anything weird. But… your tattoos are…"

"You don't like them? That's ok. I take a lot of them off every month or so. Magic is really convenient, isn't it? I mean I couldn't imagine having some of these for the rest of my life. This one," he points the Latin on his belly, "I got last week."

"A reminder of death…" I whisper to myself.

"You don't like it?" He whines.

I don't answer him, but rub along the vines on his arm and chest. "I like this one."

He blushes, shifting his weight and rubbing his breast shyly, "I've had that one for a while. It's my favorite so far."

Slowly I touch the petals of the flower. His chest is as soft as I imagined the flower would be. He is completely free of hair. The petals jump up and down as he breaths, as if moved by wind. "I think it's sexy. Though I'm not sure about the dragon."

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah I wasn't sure about the dragon either. I have to pay to get that one removed, because it's with magical ink, you know."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see yet another tattoo on the inside of his forearm. It's a skull and a snake, and his veins are pulsing underneath the dark ink. The muscles in my chest constrict. I feel like somehow this one is different.

I swallow, "We're getting distracted, though. Pants off."

"James, do you mind leaving the room while I check? You don't want to look at my gross hairy legs do you?"

I pout.

"Fine," Snape growls, undressing for me and I have a full view of his skinny, pallid legs. They're as thin as a giraffe's legs, only covered in coarse black hair. Usually I would find any leg with hair on it really disgusting, but the prickly hairs only makes Snape seem more masculine.

He stands in front of me, only dressed in very short black briefs. I drink him in, staring up from his white long toes, to his thin hairy legs, to the large bulge in the black fabric…

"Don't make this curse an excuse to look at my privates," says Severus blushing.

I blush too, muttering, "Don't need an excuse."

The "Momentum Mori" tattoo and lines a very taught and firm abdomen. He's femininely thin at the torso, his body curving inward at the sides of his tummy, which matches the masculinity of his abs (smooth for someone who doesn't exercise often, but hard for someone who is healthy). Very little hair is on his chest, probably singed away from past tattoos that I can't see. The lily moves up and down over his heart.

He shifts his weight, embarrassed at my stares (really, now, I'm trying to be professional), hands rubbing his stomach awkwardly. His pale -fingered hands are too big for the rest of his body.

A long, smooth neck. Hair as dark as the night itself. His eyes glimmer, his pupils wide and dilated, as if he were trying to drink me in too.

I'm speechless, suddenly aware that I'm still not wearing a shirt either, feverishly proud of my athletic body and messy hair. Especially when he looks at me like that…

Every part of Severus' body is so completely detailed, from the knuckles on his white toes, to the tiny line of hair underneath his navel that trails below his black boxers, to the wrinkles on his cheeks that only show when he smiles… that I can't even remember being attracted to that idiotic thing called flawlessness.Why would you even bother with perfection when you can have _this_… this immeasurably complicated person in front of you?

I place a very chaste, soft kiss on the end of his nose, "I think you're beautiful."

He doesn't blush, just stares deep into my eyes. I try not to blink or look away. It's like a staring contest between friends; one of us has to crack eventually.

Finally, he smiles, "Isn't the correct phrase 'handsome'?"

"But you're not handsome. You're beautiful," I assure him.

He sneers, a crease forming from his right nostril to the corner of his mouth. "What? You're saying I'm _pretty_?"

"If you were pretty I'd say you were. You're beautiful."

He kisses me, "You're not too bad yourself."

"Boxers off."

"Pervert!"

I pull him into a hard kiss, gripping his shoulders with both calloused hands. Our teeth click together and I see stars behind my eyelids momentarily. He sucks my tongue into his mouth, circling his tight lips around it, flicking his own tongue against it. My hardness, which had been growing slightly ever since he took off his shirt, is tenting in my loose pajama pants. I blush again, the hot sensation traveling down my neck. I can feel my nipples harden as his palms rub along my chest.

"James…" Severus whispers barely against my lips.

I moan again, swallowing his mouth with renewed fervor. The way he says my _name_… One of my hands trails down the spine of the dragon, in a way that I hope makes him spit fire.

"James!" says Severus more urgently. My other hand dips beneath the waistband of his briefs, feeling the cool smoothness of his bottom.

Suddenly Severus' strong hands grip my shoulders and rip our lips apart. My mouth is wet and cool and naked without his.

Uh, oh. I've gone too far. Well, at least he pushed me off gently. I mean, Lils usually slaps me across the face.

He wipes his mouth with his thumb carefully. "What's wrong?" I ask him.

He pats my cheek in a way that (rest in peace) Aunt Elgred might have once. It's a "don't worry about it, kid" gesture. He smirks, that one eyetooth poking out. "You know we're still in your dad's house, right?"

I toe at the floor, like a kid caught with a quaffle through a neighbor's window. "Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away."

For once, Severus blushes too. Only his blush is a tiny patch on his cheeks. "A little…" I follow his gaze to where my erection is standing out under my thin pants, broad and bold as brass. "I find that cataloguing fruits by alphabet helps sometimes."

Apple, Banana, Cantaloupe…

"But I think I might have seen a star…" I whisper, toying with the waistband of his briefs. A full-length mirror is hanging next to my quidditch banners. I waltz with him toward it, until his back from head to toe is within my view.

Date (boy, I wish I could ask Severus out on another Date)… E-something… uh… what fruit begins with E? Skip that one… F….

Gently, I pull the edge of his underwear down with one finger, eyeing the bottom in the mirror and below me, chin resting on his shoulder. Our erections are inches away from each other. I can sense more than feel him. His heart is fluttering a million times a minute, like the wings of a hummingbird.

F is for… hrmmmumm…

Gods, Snape has a nice ass. Who knew? Snivellus Snape had a drop-dead gorgeous arse. It might be the one part of his body that really _is_flawless. Pale and round and muscular. Smooth and soft to the touch. And as far as my one finger could tell warm.

Severus' breathing was heavy, and he tried to hide it by panting against my neck. "Hey, this isn't fair."

Suddenly we pull apart again. "Looks good," I say, in the manner of a doctor who's just given his patient a colonoscopy.

Snape licks his lips. "I'm gonna use the bathroom for the rest if you don't mind thanks."

"I mind," I pout again.

This time Snape ignores me. He stumbles like a drunkard into my personal toilet. I grin regardless, wondering if he plans to wank into one of my towels. Heh.

I stare down at my feet, hands on hips, and try to steady my breathing, which I just notice had turned erratic and uneven. I feel like I've just run a mile. Except my muscles are not twitchy from the welcome burn. Just one part of me is.

I blush down at my fading erection, embarrassment and emotion filling my lungs. I let things get way too out of hand. A choking, hollow sensation fills my throat. I feel as self-conscious as a five-year-old that's wet his pants, and now is tottering between tears, telling the teacher, and having to appear damp-jeans and all in front of his peers. What about Lily? I swallow. I've been able to deny this foul attraction till now. But now it is staring back up at me, tenting my striped pajama bottoms.

In the back of my mind I can see myself fucking Severus Snape and even with my loose and uncreative imagination that makes my blood turn into liquid gold. My heartbeat quickens. I feel so dirty. So perverted.

I remember the first time I took off Lily's pink, frilly, wire-rimmed bra. I liked it, but the sight of her naked breasts was not as complete as seeing Severus' many decorative tattoos. I got hard, we had made love… but something about seeing Severus naked… it's not only arousal… it rocks me to the very core and tilts my vision sideways, shifting the entire world off-kilter, and now as I pace the floor of the room of my childhood I can't see anything clearly.

I'm scared of this. Of us.

"It's fine," says Severus as he returns from the bathroom, grabbing his trousers and stuffing them on. He scratches himself discreetly but I notice. He's such a _boy_.

"Severus?" I ask softly.

He's putting his shirt on, both arms in the sleeves. "Hmm?" he asks as he loops it over his head.

"What are we?"

He blinks. "Wizards…"

"Yes… that. And?"

"We're… Young?"

"And?"

He smoothes his shirt slowly, and then looks up at me, his black eye as wide as a kitten's and I loose patience. "Are we homosexuals?" I ask.

He snorts. "Jesus, James… what are you on about?"

"We're gay… you and me… aren't we? We're together…"

"Yeah, we're together… right now."

"Right now? What about other times?"

Severus' black eyes are clouded with bemusement and fondness. I want to kiss him and hit him at the same time.

"Are we…" I struggle to come up with the right description of what we were, "boyfriends? Or something?"

Severus sneers ever-so-slightly at the sound of that. "Boyfriends? That sounds weird."

"Yeah. Well, it does sound weird, ok? I don't know what to call it."

"Do we have to call it something?"

At first, I think "no". Not giving out a name gives our relationship such a reckless daring that makes me shiver with boyish delight. Two bachelors in love, united so secretly that the only ones who would know is ourselves. But then that lump of hollowness rises in my throat. A need has risen there, a need to_know_. I don't need commitment, but… "Are you seeing anyone else?"

"Jealous, are we?"

Ooh, that devilish smile. Oh, that man. How dare he? "_No_," I bark.

"Oh, really?" His voice is oily with sarcasm.

I fold my arms over my still-exposed chest, heaving breaths in and out.

He kisses me sweetly. His mouth is puckering onto mine, sloppy and wet and short. "Call it what you want," he whispers, and pulls away.

Just then, the door to my bedroom opens with a bang that reverberates on the walls. My father's arthritis- swollen hand clutches at the doorknob, his eyes are wide and unblinking.

I sense something is not right off the bat. Perhaps it is the drained color of his face, or the hollowness of his wide-eyed gaze, or the way he is clenching his dentures, but my father looks suddenly ill again.

"James!" He barks out. His voice sounds so raspy and harsh. "You've got to… go outside with the other boys!" He waggles his finger in the air. His attention is drawn, not to the real James who is standing half-nude in front of him, but to an invisible ten-year-old standing not three feet away from him. "They're all out playing cricket. I know they're muggles. Don't try to do any more magic! The last time you did Ben had boils for a week. This time you have to be more careful."

I remember that, vaguely. Ben wasn't a very nice kid.

"Dad," I whisper delicately. I know that the best way to do this is slowly and cautiously, as if waking up a sleepwalker. "It's me, James…"

I chance a glance at Severus, who is clutching one hand to his mouth in shock and horror. I give him an apologetic nod, and he lowers his hand, trying to remain calm and normal.

"Got to be more careful!" He yells, pointing his finger at the ceiling.

"Dad," I just barely touch his shoulder and he shakes himself out of it.

"James, there you are…" He stares at me, the real me, but he still hasn't really come to yet. Severus shifts his weight uncomfortably.

"Mr. Potter?" Severus mumbles.

Dad turns, seeing him, but not really seeing him. "Do I know you?" he asks, lifting his round glasses up his nose.

He looks at me uncertainly. "Yes, father. This is Severus Snape. The man that needs help with the Serpastra curse."

He looks at me cluelessly.

"The one that… that we mentioned the other night."

His eye warmed suddenly with remembrance and he uttered an "Ohhhh!". Slowly he was getting his bearings again. "The serpastra curse. Right. Needs a form of acupuncture and a spell. I was looking for Vera Album, wasn't I?"

"Yes, Dad."

He looks at his left hand, holding and ivory jar. "And I found it apparently." He scans the room good-naturedly and finds Severus, who is still looking scared and uncomfortable.

"Got lost," he says, smiling.

Severus nervously tries to grin back.

"Somewhere between the basement and the second floor my mind gets lost. Memories and thoughts, begin to… ah… wander. Lose their bearings. It's just a sign of an old wizard getting senile. Never fret."

Severus nods, eagerly trying to not look worried. I can see through it though.

My father dips one finger into the Album cream, and beckons Snape to lift his pant leg. "Couldn't find any wandering stars, I trust?"

"No. We checked everywhere."

My dad, in his embarrassment for forgetting Severus' name, doesn't notice the blush that his worthy of Mum and me. I do though.

"I think I brought the needles up too," Father feels his breast pocket and pulls out a few thin lines.

Taking care to not touch the snake with his fingers, my father dabs a fresh cloth covered in the cream over Severus, who lets out a barely audible coo of appreciation. Severus sits at the corner of my bed, awkwardly lifting his pant leg and pointing his toes. "Bet that feels mightily better," my father grins at his handiwork. Snape nods but he takes no notice, lifting a needle to one of the stars. "Er… this is going to pinch a bit. Try not to tense up your leg, all right? James… is your wand ready?"

"Yes, father," I reply.

His gaze lingers on Severus's ankle as he scratches his chin. "Right then. I'm going to encase the Snake in the stars by holding them in place in a circular-type formation. You need to repeatedly hit the snake with the Cernunnos spell. Don't stop until it is completely gone. It will be gone when the stars have disappeared."

I'm not sure what he means by that, but still say, "Right."

"What should I do?"

"Mr. Snape, your job is to remain calm," my father replies. He slowly brings the needle to the first star on the left side. "Here's the first one."

I feel slightly seasick as I watch him insert the first needle into the black upside-down star.

"That's not so bad," Severus mewls, staring at the ceiling.

I grimace as I watch the black pus dribble down his foot. "James!" father barks, and it breaks me out of my revelry. I point my wand at the eye of the black snake, nervously trying not to stutter, and hiss out a series of incantations.

When the second needle is placed in the star, Snape wriggles as if slightly itching. He whispers, "That one was slightly less comfortable." I try to close my eyes and not focus on the now-steady stream of black blood rippling the surface of his foot. This time Severus emits a low gasp. I open my eyes to see my father tugging at his ankle to keep it in place while the black-haired man has a slightly more fearful look in his eyes.

"I would seem these will become increasingly more painful," says my father, stuffing his teeth full of needles for easily and quicker access. "Twry not to hense up your legs, right?"

He nods feverishly. I decide that staring at the wound is the best way to keep my attention on the counter-curse, though my heart is beating rapidly from the sight of what seems like three popped boils, black as a night sky, with Chinese-decorated needles sticking out at the center. I've never been good with blood, but this is just macabre-y and my stomach gives another lurch.

"Here's 'eh next un," Father says. Severus shivers.

I repeat the incantation over and over again, trying to defeat the feminine tears threatening my eyelids as the fourth needle is inserted. Snape lets out at low moan.

Three more to go… just three more to go…

I hadn't noticed before, but a golden line between the first blackened wound and the second, third and fourth is forming, light and thin as a spider thread. It seems as though my father is making a cage for the snake, which is squirming as if it has just noticed what we are doing.

The next needle is inserted and Severus bites down into my pillow.

I know he is not doing this for dramatics. This is causing him real pain and he is trying to hide it. "Just two more, Snape! Hang in there!"

I focus more readily on the snake, which is steadily shrinking in size. It dances and wriggles, dazed and confused. The eye moves and it spills fresh, hot blood down his toes where it mixes with the black ooze.

Father inserts the next one hastily. He's trying to get this over with and to relieve what appears to be agonizing pain for Severus. But he can't do it too quickly, he's not a professional acupuncturist, though he has studied it, and a wrongly, placed needle can hurt nearly as much and won't get rid of the star.

Pearls of sweat are now dripping down his long nose. He lets out a strangled, "Arg!" as he inserts the last needle as if it was causing him as much pain as the tortured figure in front of us.

Suddenly my dad is wearing a bemused and dreamy expression. "Dad!" I yell. He turns to the far right of me, as if watching an invisible ballet dancer. "But THAT'S NOT IT! DAD! You said to keep doing the spell until the snake is gone! The snakes still here! Where is the other star? YOU'VE GOT TO HELP ME LOOK FOR IT! CAN'T YOU TELL HE'S IN PAIN?!"

Severus shrieks in pain, doubled over, tears down his cheeks.

"Now, James," Father says to a goofy-looking phantom to my right. "That's no way to pack your trunk. Do you want me to teach you how to fold your socks? Here we are!" He waves the acupuncture needle as if it were his wand. At any other time it would have been hilarious, but my heart is pounding so hard because my love is writhing on my bloody sheets in agony.

"Severus!" I beg at the air, at the sky, at the gods to tell me what to do.

His black eyes meet mine. And instantly I know

I don't know how I know where it is. But I do. We looked there closely and I couldn't see it then, but I know it is hiding there.

In one fluid motion I grab the needle from Father's hand, rip his black shirt open and stab him in the heart.

In the center of that beautiful Lily on his breast.

A reptilian muffled scream fills the room from some spirit that has left the wound.

Our eyes stare deep into each other.

Until all I can see are the white parts. Because Severus' eyes have rolled back into his head.

And he has fainted.


	8. Chapter 8: The Roof

**A/N: **Erm... no flames please. This is not the end of the story. **  
**

**SheElf-** Thanks so much! That was a really nice complement!

**Audriella**- Yes, great timing. Severus really loves teasing James when he is too socially constrained to defend himself properly. The lily _absolutely _has symbolic possibilities. Care to take a stab at it? (lol dual-meanings).

**Frayedsoul**- Yeah. I would imagine Snape mentioned Voldemort being a half-blood, like him. That would probably piss off Bella, as well as other things, and as you say, she is nutters. James is certainly starting to admit that he loves him, but I think that it's still only in times of stress (I assume you're referring to when he says "my love is writhing on my bloody sheets in agony") and it's still only to himself.Aww… don't be sad. They'll be romance.

* * *

When my mother finally comes upstairs with some fresh hot cloths she lets out a shout of shock. She must see a scene that looks like mayhem: my father rolling around the place, packing imaginary school things in my imaginary trunk, my sheets soaked with black ooze and blood, Severus' bloody and scabbing foot hanging out at an odd angle with needles poking out of it, and me, who is leaning half-naked over his unconscious body, face, I'm sure, lined with worry. 

Her shriek sends father abruptly out of his revelry (the doctors told us not to do that but he appears to be alright). He starts apologizing rapidly. I only partly hear it, still staring into Snape's pale and peaceful visage. He looks oddly calm and serene, dark hair fanning around his face, black eyelashes resting on rosy cheeks… like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White or something.

I lift my forefinger and stroke one deviant black strand out of his face. "James! Oh, God. It was the stress of the moment… I could feel myself going and I couldn't do anything to stop it," my father babbles. "How is he? Did he faint?"

I stare at the torn shirt, buttons ripped and shredded. In between the torn layers of black fabric a needle is sticking out of the tattoo. It's freaking me out; it looks like he's been stabbed in the heart.

I swallow, "We should probably take the needles out now."

"Not to worry," Dad says, slowly regaining his usually calm, "They're magical. They'll disappear once I say the password. Devious Leprechauns!"

I don't even see them go, I am too occupied by Snape's eyelashes, which are fluttering open. "J-james?" he's tossing his head from side to side.

I rub his forehead tenderly, like how my mom used to when I was sick. I've forgotten that Mum and Dad are watching, and once I remember I try to make it look like I'm checking his temperature. "You alright? Does anything still hurt?"

"I'm all right," he whispers. "Just… here… stings a little," he motions toward his heart.

"It'll prob'ly go away," I take a glance at the tattoo again; besides the black goop it looks normal. "That was scary."

"Yeah," he shifts on the pillow, and as if just remembering says, "You stabbed me."

"I did it because I love you," I whisper playfully.

Oh, damn my cursed mouth! My parents are _right there_! Shit, man. I'm so stupid sometimes. I chance a glance at my parents, who had, apparently, been listening and had, apparently, been staring right at us the whole time.

At least they have the decency to suddenly look away and play with the extra cloths when I catch them. "Anyways…" I mumble, "all better."

"Yes," He sits up. "Thanks James. And you too Mr. Potter…"

Dad frowns, "I only wish I could have finished the job faster. Lucky thing, too, that James used to watch me do acupuncture when I was studying it. Otherwise, he could have caused some damage."

"Nearly gave me a heart-attack," Severus says.

"I'm sorry."

"No probl-ah!" Snape twirls round to see my mother dabbing his ankle with a hot cloth. She smiles up at him, washing off the goo and caked blood that had settled there, throwing dirty cloths into my hamper.

"Sorry, dear," Mum smiles. She then grins at me, "Awful jumpy, this one."

I grin at him too. "He is somewhat of a scaredy-cat."

"Well, I _am_ a Slytherin. Cowardly is smart in our book."

"A Slytherin?" There's no need for Dad to have such a surprised tone. "Sorry, just never thought my son would date a Slytherin."

I feel like my face has hit the floor.

"S-sorry?" Snape asks as if he didn't hear it the first time.

I catch the scolding stare my mother gives Father.

"Er…" Snape gives a glance at me, asking me in his black eyes whether he should deny it or not.

Father coughs loudly and with the tact of a muggle at a quidditch match, says, "Er… I meant 'be friends with', not date, sorry… I was thinking of… something else." He ventures a glance at Mum, who just barely nods.

Mother grabs the hamper and beckons father to follow her. "I'm just going to freshen these up… they're not hot anymore."

"Can I borrow one?" I ask. Mum hands me a lukewarm towel and I begin to dab the black pus off his chest. He lets me do it, but is apparently uncomfortable from all of this undo attention. When my parents are finally gone I whisper in his ear, "It's alright. They already knew. I didn't tell them. It was that bartender down at the pub…"

"Blimey!" Snape says. This is not a word in his day-to-day speech so I know he must really be astounded. "How long's it been? A week? I wish my parents were that sensitive about what their son was doing…" His voice carries off, high-pitched like a twelve-year-old. "How did they know it was me?" Severus whispers.

"Dunno… by the way we were acting around each other, maybe."

"James…" Severus licks his lips, "Thank you."

"Of course."

"No really," he whispers, "I mean it."

"Bloody hell, Severus!" I make my voice deep and jock-like. "_No, I won't help you… I'm just gonna let the curse eat through your whole body_. Is that what I should have done?"

"No... for just being here," the Slytherin's spare hand trails up and down my arm. "Do you want to go out tonight?"

"Ok," I was about ask him that.

* * *

My stomach lurks ever-so-slightly. I really don't want to get drunk again. But Severus wants to go to the Warehouse- it is Friday night after all. So go we will. 

He insists that it'll be great… he'll get us some really good pot and we can hang out where we did last time, on the roof, and nobody will bother us up there. I ask him if people will be annoyed if they see two queers necking on the roof and he just shrugs.

I don't really care. I'll follow him anywhere.

We're at the door of the Warehouse when I can see this old black man strumming at a beer-stained cheap guitar. He has no teeth in his mouth besides a pair of canines, and his flimsy guitar case open and full of tuppence. The stoners ignore him on the way into their haven, and the bum just sits under one of the warehouse's many windows.

"You got any change?" Severus mutters. "Muggle change, I mean?" He frowns when I shake my head at him.

"_I got a letter this morning. Yeah- Written in Red_

_It said__ hurry, hurry, the __gal __you love is dead_

_Got a letter this morning. Yeah- Written in Red_

_It said __hurry hurry cause the gal you love is dead_

_So I packed up my suitcase and took off down the road_

_When I got there she was layin' on the cooling board_

_I packed up my suitcase and took off down the road_

_There she was, Yeah- layin' on the cooling board_"

I tug at the corner of the sleeve of his jacket, trying to tear him away from the music that seems to have Severus entranced. Finally I toss a few spare muggle coins inside and Snape smiles at me, but doesn't leave.

"_I walked up close. Looked down at her face_

_I said, the good ole gal got to lay here 'til the Judgement Day.  
_

_ I walked up right close and I said I looked down in her face._

_I said the good ole gal, she got to lay here right up 'til the Judgement Day_"

I grimace when I finally notice what Severus had been staring at all this time. The old man's fingers were bleeding just a little; sending smears of blood on the nylon strings, on the wooden fret. A frothy drip of drool settles at the bottoms of his lip. And yet the man keeps playing on.

"_I said I didn't feel so bad till the good ole sun went down_

_Then I didn't have a soul to throw my arms around_

_I didn't feel so bad till the good ole sun went down_

_I didn't have just one little soul to throw my arms around_"

Finally, I bury my nose in his greasy hair and whisper into the shell of his ear, "C'mon!"

"I'm listening."

"Must we listen to this nigger?"

Severus' face drains of color. He glares at me. The insult has made his jaw drop with disapproval and disgust. "And you call _me_ a bigot? Bloody bastard!"

The old man yet still keeps singing, apparently not even noticing the couple of men fighting over him. Or not even noticing us at all…

"_You know I cried last night,_

_And the night before_

_I'm a gonna change my way of livin'_

_So I don't have to cry no more_

_I cried last night,_

_And I say the night before_

_I'm a gonna change my way of livin'_

_So I don't gotta to cry no more_."

Severus jerks his arm out of my (oddly very tight, I hadn't noticed) grip and utters to the old man. "The music is good. You just keep doing what you're doing."

The vague instruction seems to mean quite a lot to the old man. He just nods his head gratefully at Severus and gives him a wide, toothless smile. Apparently it means something noteworthy to non-bigots.

He saves the lecture until we are just inside the door.

"Where in the bloody fuck did you learn that word and why would you use it so freely?" His nose is centimeters from mine.

Tsk, Ok mom. Gonna make me eat soap now?

"I just-"

"It's probably the most racial thing _ever_!"

I ruffle my feathers, "Well, _you_ say 'mudblood'."

"That's not the same thing!"

"It's not?"

"No!"

I glare at him and he glares back. "Yes it is."

He huffs and he puffs and he nearly blows me down when he says, "You know I didn't mean it when I said that to Evans."

I raise my eyebrow, trying to come up with a time and place… I do slightly recall something happening in fifth year. Lily had stopped hanging around old Snivellus at the end of that year. I think he might have insulted her? Or something? All I know is it gave me an open window to ask the girl out without his negative influence. With him gone, she finally saw that I was more than just an "arrogant, bullying toerag".

"Yeah, well. It's still a racial slur."

"So is 'nigger'!"

"So is 'mudblood'!"

"So is 'faggot'!"

Both Severus and I turn to see an unruly, drunk and aggressive-looking Remus (so different from the calm and quiet one that I used to know) stumbling towards us. Severus gasps, not out of fear, but out of pure astonishment. Snape has had little experience with what I call gibbous-Remus. Right before the full moon he becomes very domineering and testy. He carries his shoulders differently, hunching impressively like a barbarian, growling like a giant. He is pale and peaky as ever. And if I know Remus, his hormones are getting the better of him.

"Hey Remus," I adopt a friendly tone. It's important to remind Remus that he is indeed human, (and indeed not the alpha male of the pack, I am).

"Why are you still hanging around Snape?!"

He's slurring and gazing from my friend to me with surprise and disdain.

"Remus," I say in what I hope is an authoritative voice, "Calm down."

"I am calm!" Lupin bellows. "Does it not look like I'm calm?!"

Severus just barely shakes his head back and forth. His eyes are as wide as a mouse that has just run into a tiger. Moony just inaudibly growls.

"I've had a rough day. Ok? Is that ok with you?"

"No," I mumble, "You're as testy as Filch when he has his broom up his ass."

"What do you mean 'when'?" Snape grins.

"Ok! Ok… I get it… I'm grouchy…" He stumbles back to his stool, taking a seat on the plushy fabric.

"What's going on?" I ask taking a seat on the plushy stool next to him. Severus rolls his eyes.

"Sirius," Remus puts his head on his hands, elbows on the bar in a way that well-manned Remus usually wouldn't.

"What about him?"

"He's gay."

"So what?" I ask indignantly, impatient because his bigotry indirectly applies to me as well.

The werewolf rubs the palm of his hands on his eyes. "You don't understand."

"Apparently not," behind my back I am squeezing Severus' fingers.

"No, you don't!" Remus nearly-shouts again. "Why didn't he tell us sooner?"

"Would you have reacted better if you were fifteen?"

"Yes!" I raise my eyebrows at him. "I would have totally understood. I'm a werewolf! I know what it's like to be an outcast. To have something about you that you can't control. That everybody else looks down upon! Why didn't he trust me with it? I mean, weren't we _friends_?"

For a moment I don't know what to say. I didn't think that _this_ was why Remus was so mad. I just assumed he was being prejudiced. I guess I should know better. Moony's exactly right. Being a werewolf is sort-of similar to being gay after all, with all of the negative stereotypes and restrictive ministry legislation. "Of-of course you were friends! It's just you don't trust everyone with that sort of secret, you know?"

"I trusted him!"

Well, I can't argue with that logic. Even though many times Sirius wasn't worthy of that trust (Severus almost getting killed being the primary example) Remus had trusted him.

"It's not fair! I feel like he double-crossed me. Did he think that I would just explode in his face or something? I mean, really…" He tosses back some fresh Guinness. I try to get a hold of the bartender to grab us drinks as well, "How could he think that I would…" he burps, " 'scuse me… stop being friends with him? Honestly."

I pat him on the shoulder, trying, like my father had when he called me "flirtatious", to come up with the most sensitive and delicate words. "Remus…" He whirls round; I've captured his undivided attention. Something about using his name in the week before the full moon makes him jump. "He's… Sirius…" I struggle, "he thinks that's why you're mad at him now. He thinks you've stopped being friends with him just because he came out to you."

"But that's not it at all…" He whispers up at me from his Guinness mug.

"I know it isn't," I sooth. "But maybe you should talk to him about it…"

"I can't!" Remus looks terrified.

"Why the fuck not?" Severus pipes in.

He looks like he is about to say something, but when he opens his mouth a great gurgling escapes. I can hear it squelch up from his intestines to his throat. And he closes his mouth quickly with a snap, turning a repulsive shade of mint.

"Can we have a bucket over here?!" I bellow to the bartender, who turns and lunges at the drawers.

He gets back with a giant pot just in time.

"Ugh," Snape plugs his nose at the unsightly view of Remus retching yellow chunks into the pot.

The bartender glares at us, "Get him out of here, will you? He's been here all night…"

We crabwalk, one on each side, him out of the building and take a seat where the black man had been moments before. Severus glances at me nervously as he settles down next us in the dirt of the crumbling cement foundation. Lupin looks terrible, the skin of his forehead is sweaty and pasty and he can't keep his eyes open due to the tears running down his face. I can tell that Snape is annoyed; once again his plans to have a good night with me have been spoiled, but he is being patient and kind so I stay and pat Remus on the back comfortably.

He retches into the pot again, "I'm pathetic!"

My eyes widen suddenly.

"Pathetic? What's this rubbish? You just got too drunk. It happens to everybody," Snape says.

I swallow, suddenly realizing, suddenly _knowing_, "Remus… is there something you'd like to tell us?"

His glossy eyes blink at me. He spits into the pot and says, "No."

"Remus…" Oh, God. I can't believe I'm about to ask this absurd question. But what if I'm right? "Remus… tell me honestly. We're trustworthy. Do you…" God, I feel like _I'm_ going to puke too, inhaling the rancid fumes of the mess and having a truly mind-altering thought pass through my brain. "Do you like Sirius?"

He burps, staring at me.

I gulp, trying to slow my racing heartbeat. Severus is caulking his head sideways, I don't even have to look at him to know that. "Like him, like… more than a friend?"

He clutches the silver pot closer to his chest, tears spilling into the puke like a waterfall. "How did you…? Don't tell anyone!"

"You- you mean you do?" I ask, never imagining my friend as a homosexual. I slap myself on the forehead.

"Since when?" Severus asks shrewdly.

He stares at his shabby converse shoes, "Since… forever..."

"ARE YOU?! FUCKING! OH MY GOD!" I must sound like Lily's brother-in-law Vernon, like a chimp trying to make speech. My chest squeezes like a giant metal-clad fist has closed around my lungs. I can't tell him about Sirius… I made a promise. But I have to! How can they be so stupid? Stupid! Just _talk_ to the other person about it!

"I know… I'm disgusting," Remus mutters. Severus is rolling his eyes at the heavens. I know he's thinking the same things I'm thinking, only he doesn't care about Remus and Sirius, he just finds this overly dramatic and childish. "And now he's going out with other guys. I don't want it to be a burden. I don't want to just assume… just because he's gay doesn't mean he's interested in me. He shouldn't have to go out with a werewolf. Much less a werewolf who can't hold down a job…"

Severus, who has put his face in his hands, looks at me between his middle and ring finger, a small nervous smile asking, _so what should we do about this?_

"You _are_ assuming, Remus," I growl at him. "A number of things."

"You've got to take the risk," Severus says. "If he doesn't like you back then it'll suck, but at least you'll know you tried and not live in regret."

"Sirius loves you, you've been best friends for such a long time! Don't let a little thing like this ruin your friendship!"

"It isn't a little thing! I used to write fantasy stories about how he and I would end up together… and…"

Sev and I look at each other.

In that moment, although I hadn't told him about what Sirius told me, he knows I know. He knows I know he knows. And I know he knows too. We both can't hide a crack of a smile, and are about to walk away and laugh hysterically about it. Remus doesn't notice.

"You need to tell him," Snape recommends

I was about to say that. "Remus, he's right. You really do. Don't be scared."

"Do you love him?" Severus asks. The man is taking words out of my mouth.

Remus blinks and two fresh tears stream down his face as he nods.

"Then you need to tell him," Severus pats his arm and stares up at me.

If those aren't bedroom eyes, I don't know what are.

I pat Remus on the shoulder too, but he gets up slowly, stumbling from foot to foot. "Scourgify," I whisper, and the pot is now gleaming. "I'm gonna go home," says Moony, "and go to bed."

"Do you want me to do Sidelong Apparation?"

"No… no…" Remus sanders a few feet, "I'm fine." And with a pop, he's gone.

Severus lets out a sigh and shakes his head back and forth. "They are _ridiculous_." He turns, eyes gleaming, at me. "When did he tell you?"

"Few days ago," I mutter.

"Really? Huh…" he eyes the black man who is returning with a burger in hand. "I would have thought he told you years ago…"

"Well, Sirius has a lot of pride in his masculinity."

"Hmm…"

"He told me you knew…"

"Hey boys!" The black man hollers at us. "Aye has got a gift for you, man." He beckons us toward him and lifts a paper bag. "You'se coins gave me enough money for my dinner. So aye'll give you somethin' good back too. Come over, lookit here."

"You want to sell us something?" I ask shrewdly.

"No, man!" He shakes off that idea with a shake of his thick wrist, "Ay'ze just got a gift from some boys aye know…but aye don't whant it, see… Aye gave it up." He hands the paper-bag-covered bottle to Severus, whose eyes widen when he looks at the label. "Aye figured you'se guys deserve to have a good time. You'ze be-in so nice to me before."

"We can't accept this!" Severus whispers quickly. "If you sold this… it's a lot of money."

"Aye has dis thing about selling gifts…" The black man shakes his head. "Anywayz you have fun wid it." He then breaks out his guitar and begins to strum again as if that was the final word.

Severus hands me, wide-eyed, the bottle. I unwrap the package to find a handsome wine-shaped glass with the label in French, "Lamoure et Rêves." It is a deep green liquid that I think I've heard of before.

"Absinthe!"

Snape nods feverishly.

"Let's try some!"

After Severus thanks the man profusely we dart inside. We take no notice to the hippies and whores, the pot and the coke and the children of darkness as we leap to the bartender. I hand him the pot and ask him to pour us a drink.

The man's eyebrows lift so much that his crow's feet disappear. He takes out two vase-shaped glasses and pours a liberal amount in. We watch, practically salivating as he sets a slotted spoon on each. "It's supposed to give you hallucinations, you know…" Severus hisses a warm puff of air in my ear. The bartender puts sugar on the spoon and pours ice, cold water over it.

"That's just a myth," I whisper back.

Handing us our glasses, he smirks, "I'll just hold this here for you?" He hides the bottle in the mysterious area under the bar and nods.

Our glasses clink. "To freedom," I mutter.

He licks the rim before downing nearly half the glass. "And love," he whispers.

We make our way upstairs, taking two steps at a time but making sure our glasses don't spill a drop of this fine green liquid. I goose him on the way up and he turns and glares at me, smilingly.

No one else is there. Thank God. It's not as cold as it was the other night, but my fingers still feel a bit chilly on the rim of the cool glass. I take a tentative sip. It's like no drink I've ever tasted before. I swirl the green contents on my tongue, realizing that, more than likely, I'm not going to get drunk tonight- I'm going to get completely smashed.

"Aren't you glad you called him a nigger?" Severus takes another liberal sip of the spirits, black eyes glowing green in the reflection.

I run my hand through my hair, "Alright, I get it. I shouldn't have said it." My fingers trail through the back of my head, rustling my hair to look like I've come off a quidditch pitch. It's become a nervous habit of mine. Lily used to hate that. That's until she realized that I wasn't really trying to be pretentious, it was just something I did, like how she bites her nails.

Severus plays with my bangs affectionately and takes a seat where I had found him only a few nights ago. His arms lie out wide as an eagle's, tipping his head towards the sky so that a long shaft of delectably moonlit neck is showing.

I take a seat next to him, wrapping myself in one of his arms, settling against his warm chest and biting his neck. "So…" I purr, "What shall we do?" A hand wanders to his knee.

He smiles.

The next minute later I'm straddling him, tongue in his mouth, his cold hands riding underneath my shirt. We only break to quench our thirst for the green liquid; I pour some of my drink into his lips. When we kiss, the taste is only of the heady absinthe. So this is what sex tastes like?

"HELP!"

My lips suction off of his with a "pop". Moans fill the air and they aren't coming from Severus, who is staring up at me in shock. The pained sound of an alley cat being shot can't compare to this sort of moaning.

"HEEEEEEEEEEELP!"

Sweat trickles down my brow and freezes against the cold night air. Snape's dark eyes flash with worry.

The black man's voice, ringing with husky anxiety fills the air, "Hey dats… stop it there you guyz… leave dat girul alone!"

A group of men laughing. The clanging sound of a guitar being smashed, the bloody, nylon strings echoing their last note.

"Stop it! STOP IT!"

The glass of expensive absinthe falls to the ground, the green fragments flying in a thousand directions.

That voice… is so familiar…

I'm still staring into his eyes when we leap up together, as one, and dart to the edge of the roof, leaning over the embankment.

A red-haired girl is being pulled into the dark alley away from the safety of the neon lights. Her handbag is being torn from her. The black man is punched in the face with a sickening thud; surely he's lost the rest of his teeth now. The girl is surrounded by at least ten men. She screams, the hair that was tied back in a knot being pulled and ripped down, so that a flash of red curls fall over her shoulders…

My heart stops.

"Lily," Severus whispers.

As I turn to see him, Snape has already leaped over the embankment and is falling into the street, black fabric swirling around him. "SEVERUS!" I hear myself shout, but before I even have time to think he has landed, dust swirling about him, one foot and then the other.

Breathing again, I dart through the building, leaping three steps at a time through the creaky staircase, past the hippies and the smiling bartender, and the first thing I see is the black man on the cement, holding his mangled and bloody hand, tears streaming through dark eyelids. "They haz taken huuh!" He shouts, pointing his other hand in the direction of two tall boys.

One of them lunges at me with a knife. I don't flinch, "Petrificus Totalus!"

His eyes widen as he stops in mid-air. I've attacked a muggle…

The other one, seeing my dark stare into his eyes, runs off screaming, clutching his hair, "Witchcraft!"

I enter the alleyway, slowly taking in the scene as Severus flails his wand like a wild man. One has been stunned, another petrified, and the rest are fleeing toward me, with the eyes of wild boar being hunted by a tiger. I don't let one of them escape, stunning each and every one of them wordlessly. One doubles back, lunging himself onto of the woman, trying desperately hitch up her skirt, trying to get at least one shot at her.

"_SECTUMSEMPRAAAA!_" Severus looks maniacal as the man's shoulder is ripped to shreds.

I breathe.

Lily's green eyes flood with tears as the predator's limp body leans against her. Blood has stained her blouse. She pushes him off of her with all of her might, moaning softly. Severus' arms are around her instantly.

She shrieks with sobs into his shoulder. Black hair mixes with red hair.

I stare at them passively and lift my wand. They're both all right. It's ok now. "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver stag erupts from my wand. "Tell Kingsley Shacklebolt in the Ministry of Magic our coordinates. A woman has been attacked in attempted rape. Nine men have been stunned. They appear to be muggles." The Stag's eyes glisten at mine. "One of them got away. Tell him also to bring a medic." I glance at the black man who is clutching at his hand; he might never be able to play again. "Please hurry."

The stag nods it's head, antlers and all, and gallops off into the night sky.

I watch it dance off into the cool night air and turn to see…

Severus and Lily… kissing…

Impossible.

Yet, here they are. His hands are cupping her cheeks and her green eyes widen with shock. Severus lips are mushed into hers, where _my_ lips should be.

And suddenly I realize.

I feel something boiling within me, white-hot anger blinding me. So it finally makes sense. His tongue is swirling against hers hotly. Her tears stream down both of their faces. He clutches at her, fingers deep in her white blouse.

I'm such an idiot. The Lily tattoo… him calling her a "mudblood"…. All this time…

My gut clenches. No. It can't be... he was just kissing me... we had just been about to have a night on the rooftops...

But it all makes sense. Everything is falling into place. He was trying to get at her through me. Because he loves her.

He must've heard about our possible engagement and tried to get her to change her mind. Luckily enough I stumbled across his path. He thought he'd take advantage of me… to make her think that I was cheating on her. The "birth control pills"… they were aphrodisiacs… to try to get himself hard around me. Because he's not gay and never was. Perhaps he slipped something into my tea as well…

She is moaning disconcertingly against his mouth, and he looks at me with one, glaring black eye.

Finally…

We understand each other…

The dancing, the drugs, the kisses and the secrets. They were all. A very poetic.

Lie.

My fist is in his face before I can stop myself. Lily lets out a gasp of shock as his lips are ripped from hers. I punch him in the stomach. He claws at my face, fingernails sinking into my cheeks. My knuckles dive into his stomach again.

"Stop it!" Lily gasps, tears spilling out from her eyes onto my neck. "Stop it, please!"

"You lied to me!" I bellow into his face. He kicks me in the shins and we topple over each other.

His big nose is in my face when he replies, "Slytherin."

"How could you- BASTARD!"

My fingers wind into his silky black hair and I pull as hard as I can.

He lets out a shriek of pain. I pull him close. My mind is whirling with how many times he's lied and led me on. _I have no attraction for the red head. Don't worry. – Well, maybe you _should_ wonder…Do you think I could have another kiss? Only because you asked so nicely…_ His honest grin… his laughter…"How _could_ you?"

Everything we shared. Everything he said to me. Every calm glance and slight touch. How could he? Bourbon, meatballs, burger's and shakes, the Gay bar, even Barry, my _parents_! His soul must be filled with slime!

I keep his face close to mine with one, strong hand, and he spits into my cheek. "How could _I_? How could YOU?" He hits me round one cheek and I barely feel it. "Every day for _seven years_ you tortured me into thinking I was someone less than everyone else! You drove me into thinking that I didn't deserve to EXIST! Every fucking day was torture! You drove me to push away anyone I've ever loved," Lily has her hands to her face, tearfully gasping, "You deserved it, Potter! You deserve what you get!"

It isn't the lies that hurt now; it's the truth.

"I HATE YOU SO MUCH! You don't DESERVE to be with Lily- YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LICK HER FUCKING BOOTS! I've loved her all my life and the moment you get a chance with her you cheat on her!"

"I thought we…"

"Had something? HA!" Severus looks truly ugly now. Uglier than I've ever seen him. How could I think someone like this was beautiful? Tears spill out of my eyes mixing with his spit on my cheek. I set my jaw, trying to hide the immense hurt. He must be a great actor, the best. I fell in love with a persona. A façade.

"Severus…" Lily whispers, taking pity on my pathetic form, "… stop…"

She's so fucking_ kind_.

"You… love me…" I whisper, struggling against sobs. "When we met here. I apologized. Those were real tears. I _know_ they were!"

"I – NEVER- LOVED YOU!" His hands grip my neck, squeezing hard. I can't breath. But I've hit a nerve. I've hit something. Tears are starting to well up in his eyes. He's trying to be strong but I can see a sliver of weakness. I don't lift a finger to stop the crushing of my trachea, even when my breath has gone from me.

He lets out a sob, digging his fingernails into my flesh.

"Leave him alone, Severus," Lily whispers. This is now less of a plea and more of a command. She has wiped the tears from her eyes and is now standing with her wand at his back. "Let go."

"Why did you do it?" I ask.

He grins a nasty grin that lifts his nostrils and leans over to whisper in my ear, hands still on my neck, "It's the fact that you exist if you know what I-"

"STUPEFY!" Lily shouts.

His dead weight falls across me. I stare up at her freckled face, at her green eyes, thankfully. She's wonderful. Had I forgotten how beautiful she was? I lurch forward and slowly make to stand up, "I'm sorry, Lils."

"For what?"

"For everything," I wave at Snape's limp form. "For not telling you I cheated on you. For not apologizing."

She sighs, "It's alright." She stares at him with certain disgust. My heart lifts, "If Snape wants something nothing will stop him from trying to get it. Not even you."

"Is he why you didn't say yes at first? When I asked you to marry me?"

She nods. "Yes. I guess I have no right to claim you've been cheating on me, since he's been trying to get me to go out with him since then." She sighs. "We should probably get him out of here. So that he's not prosecuted as a predator."

I think we should leave him be, but don't say anything. I lift him into the dumpster.

"Do we have to wait until Kingsley gets here?" she asks.

I put an arm around her shoulders. "No… we can go…"

The black man nervously glances at me; he had been watching the whole time.

"You should wait here. Someone's coming to fix up that hand."

The man's face is contorted with emotion. He stares at the dumpster, where Snape's arm is sticking out at an angle, and back at me, whispering a nonsensical platitude, "You know… hate isn't de opposite of love… hate just be _wounded_ love…"

I ignore him and walk on. Lily is wrapped in my arms, as it should be. "Let's get something to eat," I muse and she nods. "There's a lovely little shack around here that sells burgers and shakes…"


	9. Part Two: Chapter 9: The Dumpster

mida410- It's not over between Severus and James. It's just… different. Thanks for the review! 

-[aka really anonymous anonymous- I'm glad you can tell that both of them have good intentions (at least regards to Lily).

With Severus… he is much more emotional than his older self. He tends to act in the heat of the moment. That's why he kissed her, I think. Not really anything logical there. Thanks for the review!

frayedsoul- It might sound odd but I'm honored! Sorry you cried, I mean. Don't worry, as it's not the end yet. I'm glad you were taken by surprise, though.

Audriella- Thank you! Actually, the "wounded love" comment came from a sermon of a local priest. He was convinced that the opposite of love is not hate but no love at all. I always thought it was very wise.

SheElf- Yes, they'll work it out. Kinda. Thanks for the review.

Andi- Thanks! I'm glad you were surprised!

Noah-Body- That always happens to me, too. I hate that! I hope you enjoy (ed?) the rest of the story.

Thanks as always for the lovely reviews!**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT. **Please don't read unless you are allowed to read "Mature" fiction.

* * *

PART TWO 

Picking a strand of noodle out of my black hair I try to put myself upright, careful not place my hand into any more unidentifiable goop. Knee deep in sick, I tentatively strain my neck and lift the lid of the dumpster so that a sliver of neon light enters my new abode. They've left. But now a slew of Aurors are sniffing about the place, bending over unconscious bodies, trench-coated and silent. Kingsley's mid-section is feet away from my long nose, he stares at one body and lifts a cigarette to his lips, lighting it with his wand.

"Who did this?" Rookwood asks, in a voice that is full of petty, fake surprise.

Kingsley growls in his comforting black voice, "Potter."

Rookwood, although I can't see him, I'm sure is pulling a disdainfully disapproving face. "Potter is a loose cannon, sir," Rookwood says. "Do we even have _proof_ they were raping her?"

"He said it was an attack," mumbles Kingsley, "they were _trying_ to rape her."

"Good God!" says another Auror. Might be Longbottom, I can't say…

I see five of their asses bending over the man that I had hit with a curse. His blood glimmers in the florescent lights.

My foot falls, squelching into more garbage, an apple core uncomfortably at my knee.

"Potter should have his badge suspended immediately!" Rookwood shouts.

"This is probably why he asked for a medic. He can sometimes let his energy get away from him."

I breathe. It would suck if Potter had to admit that I was there… then these maggots would be after _me_. It was _my_ curse, after all. I doubt, somehow, that he would take the wrap for me.

Sucking the air, Rookwood mutters, "Sir, this is unacceptable."

"Perhaps it wasn't Potter, perhaps one of these people fired a curse and it hit their comrade…"

"Another curse?! Shacklebolt! This is an _alley full of muggles_!" Rookwood heaves. "He should pay time in azkaban!"

_Azkaban_? I begin to sweat, the dumpster becoming twenty degrees hotter.

"Innocent until proven guilty," Kingsley said. "I'll expect a full report of the incident tomorrow on my desk from Potter. I'll give him an inquiry. Just keep it away from that damn Skeeter woman, right?" He throws the cigarette on the ground.

"We're going to move them to the ministry, and this one to St. Mungos," Dawlish drawls.

"Make sure that we can inquire them _before_ the obliviation squad gets to them."

"Right," Dawlish replies dully.

I let out a barely audible sigh. Kingley's giant, black ears perk upwards and he begins to turn…

I lower the hood of the dumpster slowly, careful not to let it bang shut, holding my breath, for the rancid fumes of vomit and kitty litter and green meat are invading my nostrils.

"Kingsley!" Somebody shouts.

Footsteps echo down the alley, I slowly lift my head again.

"Dey is alright?" The black man's voice rings, "Dat man sayz for me to wait for you…" It's far away, but I can see him lifting a bloody hand. "Dat… Potter? Yes? He said you can help me wid my hand-"

"Do you know who did this?" Kingsley's voice rings across him.

"Dos guys tried to rape dat gurl! I was wrunning afta them and they hit me and smashed my gey-tar."

Kingsley seems unimpressed in the semi-darkness, "And then what happened."

"Well Potta saved hur!"

"Was he alone?"

The black man is stricken, "…No…"

Shit. I pocket my long jacket, trying to find my wand, preparing to apparate if I must… shit, _shit!_ I've must've dropped it in the goo. Grimacing, I begin to finger around the plastic bags, finding a used straw and discarding it.

"Der was anothda man. He was… cloaked and… tall…"

"Did you see his face?"

"N-n-no…" The black man licks his bloody lips. "Him waz masked."

I stop my searching. My hand has hit something wooden.

"A Death Eater?" Kingsley gasps.

"A Dedth Whata?"

"Nevermind," Kingsley passes his hand through where his hair should be. I finally grip my wand and hold it tightly to my chest, ready to pounce. "Then what happened?"

"Da… Deadth Whadever… guy waz trying to save da gurl _too_. He hit won 'a dem wit light and blood spurted out."

"Really?" Shacklebolt is at a loss. I can only wonder what is going through his mind. A death eater and Potter working together? To save a girl? Who is it and why? "Right…" He begins to pace in the opposite direction of the black man without a goodbye or a thank you (or more importantly and oblivation spell). Before I know it each Auror and unconscious body has left the place with an echoing array of _Pop!_ It sounds like a too-large bag of popcorn.

I lift my head again. My face is full of fresh, cool night air. I must look like an alley cat popping out of a trash bin. Taking care not to sink further into the mush, I lift myself with one sharp metal corner as the black man ambles toward me, holding his hand to his chest. "Thank you," I mumble. "For not saying anything."

"Dat Pottah said dey would help me..." he says tearfully.

Flipping one leg and then the other over the banister, I jump on the ground and finally get a good look at that hand. A broken wrist. A few broken fingers. His thumb is a black and blue pulp. He's bleeding everywhere too. It's not unsalvageable. But for muggles it would be. I can't believe Kingsley Shacklebolt… one would think that since they are of the same race…

"How's this," I say commandingly, "In return for not telling them where I was, I'll fix up that hand for you. First you'll go get the rest of that absinthe from the bartender. We'll go to my place and have a drink."

"_Sah_!" After a few seconds I realize he said "sir." "Dat's! Dat would be truly wonderful of yooh."

Before he hugs me, I mutter, "Off you go."

Shaking out the extra pasta noodles out of my pant leg, I wander up the alleyway to the sad ruins of his guitar, lying like a martyr on the cement.

"Reparo!" I shout. "Accio!" It flies into my hand, good as new. I grasp it by the fret and pace back and forth, trying not to smell my own stink, the smell of puke and month-old marinara. A fly keeps buzzing on the top of my head and I flick it off continuously.

He returns, bottle in one hand, with a few of those pretty spotted spoons. His dark eyes widen when he sees his guitar in my hands, broadening in a toothless, bloody smile. I hand him his guitar, he hands me my absinthe. Before he can thank me I've put a hand on his should an apparated us to Spinner's End.

"Whoa- Whut- Wow!" He garbles.

"This is my house," I point and fish out a key from my pant pocket, having to take out a few spiders and a clump of nappy hair to get to it.

"Iz you a- a- superhero?"

I raise my eyebrows. "What's this rubbish? Just get inside, will you? I'm a _wizard_. There are plenty of other wizards. You're a muggle, or non-magic person." I open the door for him, and he ambles inside, gawking at my furniture.

"Take off your shoes please," I demand in a less pleasant tone.

The man stumbles over and lamely tries to rip off a shoelace-less shoe with one hand. I drag myself to the couch and sink into the cushions, remembering faintly that I'm still filthy and not caring. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. I would say emotionally too, if I thought I had a heart to begin with.

"Aye iz a muggle?" The black man says, toeing my carpet with his yellow socks, staring at my books on the Dark Arts.

"Will you grab that book there? With the pentagram?" I barely whisper. "No… the white one."

He hands it to me, nervously, suddenly afraid of the person covered in garbage in front of him. I don't console him, merely turn the pages of my large book, trying to find the proper incantations. "Pour me a glass of that, will you?" I say, without looking up. He grabs the neck of the bottle and the slotted spoons and moves toward the kitchen.

"Yoo got sugar in dis magic store?" he asks.

"In the black circular box… with the serpent on it," I say carelessly.

As he finds a crystal glass I find what I am looking for. Focusing hard, I attempt at a nonverbal spell, aiming my wand at his hand in the other room, squinting my eyes, hard.

"MA…May hand!" He exclaims, forgetting the absinthe and flexing his still bloody hand. "It's _cured_!" He glances at my wand. "Yoo has saved me, sah!"

"You're easily impressed," I say, but a little pleased with myself. Not many people can do that wordlessly, after all. "Come here."

He now takes the sugar, slotted spoon, glass and absinthe with both hands and sets them on the coffee table. I grasp his hand and study it. "It's still rather black and blue," I thumb a nasty looking bruise and he hisses through no teeth. "Murtlap Essence ought to do the trick, though."

I get up, and he pours me the absinthe, finally. Before I disappear into my basement, however, I turn and give him a rather cold and unflattering glare, "Do not steal anything from this house. I will know," I wave my wand impressively. "And I don't want you hanging around here to get healed whenever you want. You go to a proper muggle doctor!" I won't be taken advantage of. Again.

"Sah," he says. "You'ze got me all wrong, sah. Aye'z poor but not a scoundrel." He gets up and puts the guitar on his lap and strums lazily despite the bruises.

I start, "Forgive me. I'm a cynical man."

"Aye know," he says.

His dark eyes twinkle at me in the way Dumbledore's always had. I scowl. He must've been watching during the entire fight. I don't want to talk about my business with this stranger. "What's you're name?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Samuel Jameson."

"Sam…" I say to myself. "Have you ever seen Casablanca?"

He looks at me quizzically, "N-no."

I sigh and start down the stairs, "Never mind."

When I return with an ivory jar of murtlap essence he is gone.

* * *

I toss my clothes off and sit at the toilet, scratching at a purple goop on my arm that might have once been grape jelly, I hope. The bath is steaming up with welcome hot water and magic bubbles- I don't normally use purple bubbles but this occasion warrants it. Mysty's mystery foam, gets up the toughest grim and keeps the bath clean too! I stand up and stare at my torso in the foggy silver mirror. Damn, I look like shit. What should I expect? I _feel_ like shit. There's a slit of purple under one eye and goop on my chest and pasta noodles still sticking to my hair. I try to get it out. 

I remember when James said I was beautiful. I almost laughed at him. I don't want to think about that, though. I pick some more pasta out of my hair, getting the larger chunks out. I remember his taunts about my greasy hair, going back as far as first year. His fingers through my hair, _It's not as greasy as it looks_, he had said. Took the bastard ten years to figure that one out.

My gut clenches. I feel like I might vomit. The room is spinning. I stare at my dark eyes in the mirror. Or worse. I might cry. Eyelids wet, I wipe my cleaner hand on my face. I'm being ridiculous. Grown men don't cry.

I lift a palm over the lily on my breast, and step into the bath.

It's almost painfully hot. I welcome the sizzling of the bubbles around me, siphoning off the grim of the dumpster, from my arms, my hair, my feet, my ankles, even my arse. I watch as a lone noodle strays in the water, and disintegrates from the magic soap eating away at it. I dunk my head in, and out.

I grab at the wine glass filled with absinthe, which had been sitting on the fluffy edges of my bath rug, and take a tentative sip, staring at the ceiling.

It is moments like these that are particularly dangerous for me. I am a master at Occlumency; no one doubts that. But it's moments like these that emotions and thoughts bubble up without my control. The moments between moments. When I have nothing to fight, no conflict to fiercely thrust myself against, thoughts can rise without abandon. I am at the mercy of my own consciousness…

I flex my toes against the opposite edge of the bath and take a sip of the green liquid again. It's hard to not think of lips and tongue when I drink it, remembering only hours previous when James was still in the palm of my hand. He was _mine_.

_I never loved you_, I had told him. He could tell I was lying. Voldemort and Dumbledore might be able to fall for my lies… but not James Potter.

I used to do this a lot. Think back at the day's activities and cringe. Like when I was sixteen and I went the entire day with toilet paper stuck to my shoe. James and Sirius had put a sticking charm on it. I cried that night. I cringed and I cried some more. No one liked me. I was a loser.

And people wondered why I got into the dark arts.

I sigh, winding one hand into my hair. Memories flood back to me. Lily coming out of the portrait hole in fifth year, only to go back in, to remain in Gryffindor, to fall in love with_ him_… James pushing me out of the way of a giant werewolf, teeth bared, getting out just in time… I should have told her I loved her more often, then maybe she would have understood better… but now she is back in his arms again. I am alone.

Alone.

I dunk my head in again. I wonder how hard it would be to kill myself in a bathtub. Drowning myself might actually be more difficult than it seems. Fear of death aside, the body is a wondrous thing. It will force oneself to breath, to come up for air, almost automatically. Willpower isn't enough. The body _wants_ you to live.

I come up for air, gasping and rubbing my face. I glance my razor, innocently lying at the corner of the sink. Severus, now, you've become such a maudlin creature. This isn't necessary. Maiming yourself like you did when you were younger will only make a mess that you don't want to clean up, and the situation will surely not improve. We'll just have to come up with ways to try again.

It's not that I want James and Lily to be apart, not really.

I just want them to be _mine_. I want Lily to marry _me_. That's _always_ been what I've wanted, ever since I was eleven years old. James' love is just like a side dish to the main course that is Lily Evans.

I try to convince myself that's true and fail. I can't even pretend anymore. I just want James… to stop being _James_, to stop his domineering, to stop pretending that I'm _his_. I want him to love me and hate me at the same time. The same way I do him. The same way I have always felt. To understand that bundle of hate and love and astonished admiration and disdain, all trapped in the darkest places of my heart.

But neither of them care about me at all and I am alone.

I down the rest of the absinthe with one gulp.

* * *

"TURN THAT MUSIC OFF, WILL YOU?!" 

Mrs. Potter frowns disapprovingly at the ceiling. She had been previously dancing to St. James Infirmary and Minnie the Moocher on her old Cab Calloway album, when her son's girlfriend, Lily Evans, had shouted very rudely down the stairs at her. She gives a meaningful glance at her husband.

"PLEASE! JAMES HAS A REPORT DUE!"

"Didn't mind it when he was snogging Severus to it," she mutters under her breath, thinking no one else had heard it but Mr. Potter, indeed, had (his hearing was bad, but not _that _bad, yet). She turns the knob down. Staring as reproachfully at the bedroom above as a disgruntled delivery owl, hands on her old hips, she actually feels something that she hadn't felt toward her boy in a long time: anger. "What's with him? Said he like the song merely days ago."

"I think Severus and him had a fallout," mutters Mr. Potter into his Prophet. He folds the paper, guiltily wondering, "You think we scared him off?"

She gives him a glare as though, _I don't care and that doesn't give James the bloody right_. "It's nearly midnight! What the bloody fuck is he doing at midnight?"

He blanches.

"What?" Mrs. Potter growls.

"Mary! That's the first time I've heard you swear since 1945!" He grins as though his wife swearing was the best kind of entertainment, "Thought you had lost the ability!"

"I swear all the time… just in my own head," she says.

"Didn't you hear? He has a _report_ due. For the office."

"Here we stay up _all bloody night_ waiting for him to get back…" She heaves a breath as though they _didn't_ spend every night worrying about their son, which was a lie, "And when he bursts through the door, smelling like pot, he tells me to leave him alone. No, _I've been fine, Mum,_ or _thanks for looking out for me, Mum,_ or _I'll take a moment just to explain what happened, Mum_." She looks ready for tears. "No! He gets an owl from Kingsley, swears, and goes straight to his room. And says _By the way, Mum, Lily's coming over to sleep here later, and you can't tell me she can't sleep in my room…"_ She stabs her fork in a plate of forgotten, crusty pie savagely. "_We're_ fiancés!" She stabs it so vehemently that apple juices spay Mr. Potter's vest. "Isn't it wonderful? When that boy was just here all afternoon snogging the daylights out of Severus Snape!"

Mr. Potter hadn't seen his wife like this in a very long time. Not since he had forgotten their anniversary ten years ago, and somewhat uncompassionately he felt a relief that he wasn't the one at the other end of her wrath. He knew exactly what to do, though. "Darling…" he cooed.

She just kept stabbing her fork into the pie, not eating a bite.

"Sweetums…"

She clenches her jaw and bites her lip, looking darkly up at him through bloodshot eyes.

"I know you _liked_ Severus..." William said, "but darling it isn't _your_ choice… whom he marries…"

She lets out the sound of a frustrated, sad pup, tears spilling out of her eyes.

"We don't know what happened! Maybe they broke up. Maybe something _bad_ happened!" William whispered, patting her arm.

"And he doesn't trust us enough to tell us?!" Mary shrieks.

I guiltily watch them at the bottom of the stairs, curled into a ball like a child, hugging my knees. Lily's asleep on my bed. My report has already been sent by owl. I had been spying on them through a crack in the door, rocking back and for like I used to as a kid. I decide now is a good time to walk into the kitchen, albeit unwisely. Mother starts when she sees my red, puffy eyes.

"James! Damn it!"

"You've got quite a mouth on you tonight, haven't you?"

"Darling," she clutches me to her. "Please tell us what's wrong! We've been worried so!" She's positively shrieking with concern, a flush of embarrassment across her cheeks from being overheard, but her eyes have lost none of their fervor.

She dabs my eyes with a napkin from under her uneaten apple pie, at a loss.

"Mum…" my voice comes out far weaker than I had anticipated. How do I explain to her that Severus doesn't love me? "Don't… be mean to Lily." I say because I can't think of everything else. My voice cracks again around the edges.

She looks at my father and says, "We weren't."

I want to say, _yes you were_, but I don't want her to realize that I had been listening the whole time. "I… I know you liked Snape better…"

"Oh, dear," she says, taking my face in her hands and kissing a dribble of tears under one of my eyelids. I try to pull myself together. She pinches my cheeks and smiles, "It doesn't matter what I like."

I let out a breath, forgiving her instantly. "I'm sorry that I snapped at you," I glance at my father, who nods approvingly. "I'm just… scared. I think I might be fired."

"Fired?"

They know already that there's a hole in my story. If they stayed and interrogated the black man then they know that Severus was there, and I hadn't mentioned anyone else in my report. That sort of a hole doesn't go unnoticed. They'll prod me for the truth- and then they'll fire me like Fabian Prewett after he set a dungbomb off in the chief's chair. Bye-bye, career.

"Long story. Lily almost got raped."

"Raped?" Mother gasps, cupping her hand to her mouth.

"She's alright. I saved her. But I attacked some muggles… and…" Well, that's the short version. Good enough for now.

"Dead?" Mum gasps, clutching her heart.

"No! No… just knocked out…a whole bunch of them…"

"And Severus?"

She really won't let me beat around the bush.

"Yes," Father pipes in, leaning over his half-eaten pie. "What happened?"

It's the first time that I think I might burst into tears in front of my parents since Ben from down the street ripped my jeans open for all the neighborhood girls to see. I had been six. "N-nothing," I choke back, cursing away the stinging at my eyes.

"We don't believe that for two seconds, darling," Mum smiles sympathetically.

I turn away and pinch the bridge of my nose. Taking shaky breaths, I try to calm myself. It works, sort of. "Let's just say that we're not going out anymore."

"Why? What happened?"

I let out a strangled sound and try to disguise it as a cough.

"Severus said… he said…" oh, I should really try to stop talking. I'm about to start crying in front of my father. I can't stand the embarrassment. I'm supposed to be an _adult_ here. Not wallow in my misery of loosing a favorite ball at a playground. Grow up, James. Grown men don't cry.

"Darling?" Mum wraps her wrinkled but warm arms around my shoulders. "Go on, tell us," she continues to wipe my tears away. "Did he say that he didn't love you?"

My eyes widen and I turn to my mother, who is staring at me with a half-smile. "Of course he did. That's what got you so upset, is it?" She so certain that I don't think it has anything to do with knowing the bartender this time. She just _knows_. She pulls up a stool and drags me to the kitchen table, setting a piece of pie on a china plate and handing it to me. Father stops staring worriedly at me and begins eating pie again, dribbling on his chin. "I thought something like this might happen."

"He kissed my girlfriend!" I shout angrily, ignoring my pie, even as she hands me a fork.

"Yes, well," she seems suspiciously unsurprised.

"You knew? Don't tell me that you _knew_!"

"I didn't know anything."

"Don't yell at your mother," mutters Father.

"It's just that I knew that Severus has been infatuated with Lily for years," her eyes twinkle. "He was in love with her even when he was a little boy. Right up before Hogwarts, even!" She clutches my fist, which apparently I had been contracting. "I didn't want to dampen the romance, darling. Forgive me for not telling you sooner. I just have had an old-time witchery-knitting friend by the name of Eileen, Severus' mother, and we always get together and talk about our sons. She hasn't come to our circle for years, though. She might have changed her name to Prince, now… it's hard to tell. Her marriage was quite rocky for a long time. She knitted to de-stress…" She brings a bit of pie to her lips and I copy her. "Anyways… she told me that once they were teenagers, Lily would never give Severus the time of day. The poor thing would stay locked up in his room for hours and hours at a time. Eileen told me he was never the same after that. To tell you the truth," she runs her fingers though my hair, affectionately picking out a piece of foil that had gotten there, probably from the dumpster, "I felt quite_ embarrassed_ almost, when you started going out with her. Eileen never seemed to forgive me for that. Didn't really come to the meetings anymore." She sighs, "Shame. She was lovely with the designs."

I wonder how often Mum has lost friends because of my behavior.

"Though that might have more to do with the fact that Albus Dumbledore started showing up. Eileen was pretty… conservative…"

I eat my pie, savoring the taste of sweet cinnamon jelly and apple and crust. I know that her speech hasn't solved anything, but I feel oddly calmed.

"So he cheated on you with Lily, did he?" Father asks, poking his plate with his fork, noticing he had finished it, and scooping himself more pie.

I nod.

"And Lily cheated on you with Snape?"

I raise an eyebrow, "Yeah…"

"You cheated on both Lily _and _Severus too then, I wager?" He doesn't wait for me to nod and busies himself in his pie. "So you're _all_ immoral, instead of just one of you. Seems to me like an even playing-field." He grumbles something about "immoral youth" into his crust and shovels a hefty spoonful into his mouth.

"Would you like some ice cream with that dears?" Mum offers, "Vanilla?"

Dad nods but I shake my head.

I hadn't thought of it that way. My eyes widen. Was I being hypocritical? I hated Severus because he cheated on me with Lily… but _I_ had cheated on _him_ with Lily, not physically, but emotionally, and Lily had cheated too but I wasn't mad at her. I rub my chin with two fingers. Why was I mad at Severus again?

"But… but he told me he didn't love me!" I say breathlessly, more to myself than anyone else. "That he never loved me!"

"Oh, sometimes people say that, dear," Mum says, "but the very rarely mean it."

The black man's voice echoes in my brain. _Hate isn't de opposite of love… hate just be wounded love…_

"Do you think for one second that your father and I haven't had our moments?" Mum scoops a dollop of vanilla to her smiling husband.

"Remember Vienna?" Dad says nostalgically.

She slaps him with a napkin playfully. "Hit you across the nose."

"Got lost for three hours."

I smile in spite of myself.

"Severus might still be angry at you for bullying him as a kid, or for taking his Lily away from him," Mum says, spooning herself some vanilla. "But that doesn't mean-"

"Sirius!" my father bellows out of the blue. "So good to see you again!"

We both stare at him as he begins humming to himself. We can barely tell that he's having another one of his…moments. "Brought another one of your odd... er... _albums?_ Right? What's this one? A musical about a mass murderer? Sounds absolutely mad! Go on... play it then!

"_You see sir a man infatuated with love her ardent and eager slave_!" He sings loudly. "_So fetch the_…"

"Pa…" I say. "Pa!"

He blinks. "Perhaps you should play another one... maybe- what's the phrase- a 'rock'n'roll' one? Yes?"

He shivers and shakes himself out of it.

"I think it's time for you to go to bed, lovely," Mum says, taking his pie plate and griping the handlebars on his wheelchair.

"Was I just singing?" He whispers to Mum and she nods. "No wonder, I've got a song that has been stuck in my head for days."

She makes toward the door and looks back at me, "Coming to bed, dear."

"I'm just going to finish my pie first. I'll clean up…"

She nods.

This time Dad sings with his presence of mind freely, "'_Tis your delight, sir, catching fire from one man to the next. Tis true, sir, love can still inspire_ _the blood to pound the_…" His voice echoes down the hall while Mum can't stop laughing.

I grin at the darkened, empty hallway, solemnly eat my pie alone, blinking from lack of sleep, trying to keep the thoughts of a dark-haired someone out of my brain.

* * *

By the time I finally wrap a towel around my waist, pull back my hair that's still dripping on my shoulders, and start to climb down the stairs I realize I've run out of absinthe. I wonder if it is wise to grab another glass, I remember the dangers of _drinking alone_ that everyone seems to find so unhealthy. But this occasion sort-of warrants it. Tossing ideas of alcoholism and solitude and ­_it's-only-one-night_ back and forth in my mind, I'm preoccupied as my feet find the floor of my living room. Shock shivers down my spine when I see a shadowy figure sitting on my couch. 

Tobias Snape is nonchalantly flipping through his wedding album in my living room. He smiles up at me, as though my showing up naked was normal behavior. "Evening," he whispers, and then licks his fingers to flip another page.

Oh… he makes me so angry. Ignore the fact that the family has been out of this house for years, and that I have paid my rent to him _in full_ every month, he still acts like this house is his. He can't just barge in whenever he wants to look at his wedding pictures!

Or maybe he can. I tug at my towel, making sure the knot is firmly on my waist and that none of my parts are showing. I gulp, "Dad?"

He smells like cigarettes. I hate that smell. Took me months to wash the smell out of the carpet. "Hmm?" he grunts, eyeing Mother's wedding dress, fondly. He has a small smile playing across his lips. It's the same sort of smile one gets while watching the tele. That far-away grin. Escapism.

"Er… what are you… what are you doing there?" I wanted to say, "What are you doing here?" but felt it might be rude. He is my landlord, after all.

"Oh, nothing," Tobias says, folding the album back up and setting it on the coffee table. He gives me a wide smile, but I can tell that he's not all there. Not drunk. Not high either. But he's not all there. Like he's trying to _pretend_ it's all ok. "Just thought I'd stop by… have a chat."

I feel myself raising an eyebrow. A _chat_? Oh dear lord. I hope he doesn't plan on having another _man-to-man chat_ with me. One of those rants about morality and chivalry and some nonsense. I'm really not in the mood tonight, "Father, it's nearly midnight…"

"Two-in-the-morning, actually," the way that Tobias beams. It's unnerving.

"It's not a good night," I whisper.

What I meant was, "It's not a good night, for me." But as always he takes my meaning completely differently. "No, it's not a good night, is it?" Tobias says, assuming that I meant the general commentary on the weather or the stars or something. He rubs his face in his hands.

I take a seat across from him, on the leather loveseat, glaring at him. He's not going to leave unless I talk to him, I realize. I'm still only in a towel.

"Nice tattoo," he says. Completely off-topic, insufferable man.

Has it really been that long since he's seen me?

_No_, I think to myself_, just since he's seen me shirtless._ I scratch at the dark mark unconsciously. I think he's talking about the lily, though, "Erm… thanks?"

"You've acquired a much finer taste in alcohol since I've been here last," he says, taking a whiff of the absinthe bottle. "Good year, too. Do you mind if I have a glass?"

"No…" I huff, crossing my arms on my chest, "I mean… Yes. I do mind! You can't just come in here and barge into my liquor stores."

He lets out an "humph". There is an unspoken argument there. _You still think I'm an alcoholic, don't you_? I can feel him wondering. _You think that still after Mum told you. That was years ago…_

I sigh, "But if you must, you must."

With some trepidation, he puts the bottle down on the table, eyeing me, "No, I don't have to. But maybe another time, yes?"

I nod.

He settles back into his chair. Eyeing the living room, he mutters under his breath, "You haven't done much with the place, have you?"

I glare. "I've kept it in tact for when you feel like barging in here only to experience nostalgia."

Father smiles, "Well, that's very thoughtful of you."

Bloody man. Don't know why he's being so… urgh. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

He crosses his legs, knobby, denim-covered knee over knobby, denim-covered knee. Rubbing his goatee, he says, "You first."

"Why do you just assume something is wrong with me?"

"You're not married," he coughs, "You don't have a steady job. And you're still hanging around your unsavory prep-school crowd. I just assume you may want some guidance."

"Nice way to raise my spirits, Dad," I sputter. I had wanted to hear something that James' parents might say, like "oh, I could just tell."

"Sorry," he says, looking sheepish, "Don't get me wrong. I _am_ proud of you, Severus. I just remember what it's like to be your age. It's awfully… confusing."

I roll my eyes heavenward. It was confusing for _him_. He had found out that he was married to a witch, that there was such a thing as magic, and that Mum could have always used a spell to mop the floors, but simply did it the "muggle" way anyway because she thought there was "something good about hard work". She must've sounded mad.

"Dad… I'm fine," I sigh.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you, but I won't press on it."

Somewhere, part of me _wanted_ Tobias to press on it. But I just rub my forehead and say, "I don't want to talk about it."

He raises an eyebrow, and says, "Do what you please."

Something about his voice is making me nervous, "What's wrong, Dad?"

"Oh," he flicks some fuzz off of one kneecap, "Hmm. Nothing."

"Tell me."

"Can I have a cigarette?"

I pull out an ashtray from a nearby drawer. "Tell me."

He swallows, and exhales a shaky breath.

"Your mother is asking for a divorce."

I feel like some foreign hand is tugging at the bottom of my diaphragm. It doesn't matter how many times I've heard the word _divorce_, it still leaves me in a cold sweat. Which, it shouldn't, I know I'm being stupid. I remember over the summer of my first year at Hogwarts, the word _divorce_ came up on a near-weekly basis. Almost every Sunday, on the ride to church, Mother and Father would argue until that word, divorce, came up. Father would ignore the road and let the wheel veer from side to side so much that it had me clutching my nails into the cushions of my seat. I think those finger marks are still there. And almost every Sunday Mother would sit cross –legged, one foot bouncing up and down in anger, tears streaking down her face, ready to strike a verbal lashing to whoever tried to get her to make brunch until Father would stroke one shoulder and whisper in something in her ear. She would get up and make a late lunch, forcing herself to smile. I wish I knew what he had whispered in her ear now…

I swallow, hard, and the action is painful, muscles rippling down my chest. "She's not…" I stare plainly into my father's face. He had once been an attractive man, but years of stress of an unhappy marriage kept his face lined. "Dad. It'll all work out. Just like last time."

I say this a lot, mind. And each time seems bleaker and less sincere than the last.

"Not so sure about that," His dark brown eyes, so similar to mine, try to blink back tears, "She's got it all worked out. This time. She kicked me out. That's why I'm here."

"What did you say?" I panic. "Dad, what did you do? Did you forget her birthday, again?" He shudders.

"Why do you just _assume_ it's me?!" Tobias rasps angrily. It would be a shout if it wasn't through tears. "Why do you _insist_ that it's always me? Always! I haven't done anything."

I bite back the retort of, _well, oftentimes it _is _you_…

Tobias wipes his face with a greasy-looking handkerchief, "She has another man."

I let out a slight gasp. Never in a million years had I imagined that _my mother_ would be the one to cheat! I clutch Dad's shoulder from across the table, realizing suddenly that our stories are so similar…

"Oh," I try to sound sympathetic. I try to sound like the remedy for both of us. "How long?"

"I don't know," He's openly crying into his battered cloth, "S-s-she didn't say."

"Well… maybe she's just made it up then!" I say, hopefully. "Maybe she was just trying to get you to be jealous of her!"

"No," he shakes his head. "S-she showed me…"

"Showed you what?"

He pinches his nose and blows like a trumpet into the cloth. "I can't believe I'm going to tell my son this…"

"What?"

"She showed me the used condoms."

I try not to grimace but my emotion splits my face in a pinching frown.

"Maybe it was a rouse. She just took them out of the wrapper and stretched them out." I sound so feeble and weak. How did this happen?

Secretly, I want this to be true. So badly.

Because if this was true, then maybe Lily and James never cheated on me. Maybe James always _did _love me.

Dad, to my astonishment, laughs. I thought he was crying more but when he leans up to look at me he's smiling. "You know what? She might have done. Sounds a bit like her."

I feel myself grin, "It does, doesn't it?"

He wipes his tears, "I doubt it though."

He finally takes out a cigarette and searches his pocket for a lighter. "I've got it," I sputter, grabbing my wand from the table. He flinches when I bring it close to his face. But the bud flicks to life and that horrid smoke comes billowing out.

"Thanks," he mutters.

I cross my legs unconsciously, smoothing my by-now wet towel on my thighs.

"Sorry, Severus," Tobias says.

"No, you don't have-"

"You didn't have to hear that."

"Oh," I say. I find it odd that he's being considerate now when I've lived with them fighting for twenty years. I calk my head sideways.

"Point is… I'm going to need a place to stay for a few days. I figured I could take one of the upstairs bedrooms…"

_Out of the question!_ my mind screams.

"I'll stay out of your way. I'll only charge you for half the rent. But I doubt I'll be staying a month. That south bank property ought to be done soon and I can move in there."

I lick my lips, trying to come up with a way of saying that I want to help but _stay out of my house_.

"You should go back to Mum."

"I knew you were going to be like this."

"You're going to have to deal with a great deal more magic," I hiss.

Tobias shifts in his chair uncomfortably.

"Just for a few days, then," he says.

"And stay out of my way. If I have a girl over, or a guy, it's my business," I spit.

He raises one eyebrow at the _or a guy _part. Surely he assumes that I'm merely trying to make a point when he says, "Right."

"And no going in the basement. There are potions down there and the last thing I need is for you to be poking around, knocking over caldrons…"

"Right," Tobias says.

"Right," I growl.

"So…" he cordially smiles, "Roommates, then?" He protrudes a hand.

I shake it, "I can hardly believe I'm agreeing to this."

"That's my boy," he beams.

"Just… just… just don't become one of those _bums_ alright?" I remember that I just let a bum into my house a few hours ago. Oh bother.

"I'm not a bum."

He presses his cigarette into the ashtray, coughs, and says, "Well, in that case I'm ready for bed. How about you-"

"Wait," I mutter, "one more thing." I swallow, gathering the courage to say something to my father that I've been wanting to say for twenty years. "I don't want you to smoke here. In the house. Ever."

His dark eyebrows, so similar to my own, shoot up towards his hairline. "Really?"

"Really. I don't like it. It stinks."

"Not even in the kitchen? With the fan on?"

"No. That's even worse. I eat there."

He blanches for a moment, as though he has no idea what to do with me, but quickly steadies himself. "Well… I… er… suppose I'll just go outside, then." He stares at me, his dark eyes hovering over my form, the line from his right nostril to the corner of his mouth twitching periodically.

"Thanks," I say. I finally let a small smile split my face.

"Er..." Tobias shifts from foot to foot, "Night, then."

He is already halfway up the stairs when I say, "Night."

I uncork the bottle of absinthe again and have another glass, taking up the wedding album and flipping through it slowly.

* * *

I toss and turn, remembering that Lily is in my bed too only when I hit her on the breast with the back of my arm. "Sorry," I grumble sleepily. My eyes are screwed shut but I can feel her womanly form nudging against me. Her breasts nudge against my chest. One warm calf stretches over my legs. The weight of water balloons and fruit. 

A dusting of dove-soft hair tickles my shoulder. "Mmm…" she leans against me. My morning erection fades slightly at the smell of fruit perfume- pomegranate with a hint of mint. I like her _natural_ smell better, but she always becomes too self-conscious and has to cover it up with perfume or deodorant.

My hands wander up her smooth back- it's like I'm touching nothing at all… I'm touching smoke- and find the strap of her wired bra. Opening one eye, I notice this one is colored bright, neon green. I lift the back and let go with a _snap!_

"Stop it, you," she smacks me playfully on the arm. It seems so much more sincere, so much more enticing when Severus says it. I'm still wondering why I've forgiven her and not him. I sigh into her red hair. Her freckles pinprick her neck. I take my time in trying to kiss each one.

"Hey… hey…" she says. I've never realized just how masculine her voice was. It's not a manly voice. But it isn't shrill, either. It's deep and throaty and smooth, especially at times like these when she's not becoming upset. It's like tea to Severus' coffee voice. Still goes down smooth. I kiss her on her cherry lips. "Hey!" she says, "none of that now. Really. I have to talk to you about something first…."

Nervously, I wonder if she's going to question me about my relationship with Severus. _Are you gay_? I can imagine her asking me… my erection wilts almost to nothingness.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble," Lily whispers. Her eyes finally meet mine, and my breath is taken away. My _soul _is taken away. Had I forgotten how powerful those mossy green eyes were? "But I have to talk about something. About me."

I simply stare, taking in those luscious green eyes. The rims are as dark as forest but the highlights are as light as granny-smith apples.

"I cheated on you, you know," she says without hesitation. "I would have thought you would be insanely jealous and want to know all of the details right away…"

"I cheated on you too," I say, licking my lips, "and I don't like to think about it."

"Right," Lily says, her white tooth poking into a pink lip. "But I think you _should_ know this. I would feel terrible if I didn't tell you. I'd feel like a whore."

I raise my eyebrows. I've never heard her say the word _whore_ before.

"I..." she swallows, more nervous all of the sudden, "I slept with Severus."

I shouldn't be surprised but I am all the same.

"You went," I gulp, "all the way?"

She blushes. Her freckles look even browner on her cheeks. She nods. My tongue feels dry. "I feel like a whore."

"You're not a whore," I say impatiently. "But why'd you do it?"

She looks like she might cry at first. There are little droplets of moisture on her eyelashes. I pat her arm and wait for her to continue. "I dunno."

_I dunno_ wasn't the answer I expected. Tell me it's because he has a hot ass. Tell me it's because of his cool, seductive voice. His laughter. I'll believe you. But not because you _don't know_.

"I-it was stupid," she says, hiccupping, trying to pull herself together.

"When did it happen?"

"This Thursday."

My heart sinks. That was the short span of time Severus and I _weren't_ snogging with our tongues down each other's throats last week. Any hopes that Severus might still love me and that he was doing this all for the best are completely dashed. Damn.

But it also makes sense… because…

"I thought you were cheating on me then," she explains.

"I _was_ cheating on you," I say sympathetically, "with Severus."

"Why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

I feel my face going hot. _Yeah, Lily, I'm bent. I still want to marry you but I also want to snog Snape daily on the side_. "I thought you'd think I was bent."

"And you're telling me now you're _not_?" She scathes.

That was a hit bellow the belt. I pout. She smiles.

"I'm not grossed out or anything. And I know you get along perfectly in bed with a woman anyway. And you're not _completely _bent… just a little… diagonal," she grins.

"Really, now? Perfectly?"

"Well not _perfectly_. But," she trails her hands across my chest, "nine out of ten."

She kisses me on the lips, softly.

"I love you, Lily," I say.

She blushes, "Not sure I deserve that."

"I'm sure you do."

"James…"

"What?'

"Maybe you should come see… actually _see_ what happened."

I think maybe she wants to take me to the scene of the crime, or even better re-enact the crime with me being the perpetrator this time, but she shrugs on a baggy shirt and some jeans and beckons me to follow her.

A pair of jeans and a sweater later, I follow her gesticulatory motions towards my parents' bedchamber, where she pulls open the third dresser drawer down.

_Oh_, my father's pensieve. I should have known.

Lily scoops up her wand from her trouser pocket and taps her temple, face frowning in concentration. She pulls out a spidery, cloudy strand that clings to her red hair for a moment until she drops it in the stone basin. The basin is lined with runes. It's not as grand as Dumbledore's but it gets the job done. She must've remembered where it was from when Dad had been bragging about it to her. Father had bought one for a large sum of money so that he could sort through his memories and try to keep them in order. The nurses told us that might help.

She looks at me expectantly, her green eyes glowing misty in the half-light of the memory. She shuffles her feet awkwardly, biting her lip. She says, "I'll be downstairs making breakfast. Once you're done."

I whisper, "Right."

"I mean. If you _want _to talk to me then, of course."

I nod. She clutches the doorframe a moment before exiting the room.

And I take the plunge.

Down, down, down into the swirl of memory. I feel my body float like thin air and then be jabbed forcefully back down to earth again. And instantly I hear voices.

"Aah- AAHHH- AHHHHH!"

"Severus- Oh God!"

The wet slap of bodies. The creak of a spring mattress being used like a trampoline…

_Oh God,_ I think to myself, _Why is she showing me this?_

"Hnnn… Nnnh… Yeah…"

My eyes swirl around the room. It's Severus' non-descript bedroom. The curtains have been shut on what must be glaring sunlight.

"There- yes-_There! OH!_"

I almost don't want to look. I don't want to know. I want to shut my eyes and never see my Lily, _my _Lily, wanton and exposed below _him_. Severus.

_My_ Severus.

But of course I can't, however willing I might be. I know Lily isn't just doing this to share intimate details. If she had she might have started at the beginning. I open one eye… to see Severus's _hot, _tight, muscular arse rhythmically rutting against her, against the bed. Sweat is beading along his back, along that winged dragon, down his ass cheeks, down the back of his knees.

My erection is as hard as steel within seconds and I bat at it, trying to get it to go away, trying to calm down.

I can see her breasts bobbing up and down at the exertion. Neither of them are wearing a shred of clothing and they look so sweaty and _indecent_. I feel filthy standing here, watching them as if I'm watching a porn. But I'm not watching porn… I can shift my head and suddenly see _everything_, even his long red cock thrusting into her wet, tight cunt. I feel like I shouldn't be here- this is too much- but I'm suddenly harder than I've ever been in my whole life. And the moaning… the moaning is something like I've never heard. I've never gotten Lily to moan like this… this low, guttural, "Hunnnnmm." And Severus… he's certainly on top form, I think to myself, turning brick red. His whole body tightening and slackening and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting…

I bite into the back of my hand.

Maybe she _did _just bring me here to see how hot they are together…

"Oh God! Lily! Lily!" He says each word with a slap of his balls against her wet flesh. I change my angle so I can see both of their faces, both screwed up in concentration. But Snape is staring at Lily. Staring at her as though he'll never stop.

"OOH!!" She screeches, and surely Severus has done something good, I think, and he must think so too because he quickens the pace. Her breasts bob in earnest.

"Oh God… Lily… I love you!" He grunts.

Her eyes open finally, those green eyes widen with shock. Perhaps she thought this was a one-off, friends with benefits, a pity-fuck. But she certainly hadn't been expecting that.

But he doesn't stop. His eyes roll back into his head momentarily but he continues to pound away at her. His moans are now overpowering hers. When he leans down to lick a nipple, she remembers to enjoy herself as well and starts moaning again. She lets out a little shriek when he blows cool air on it. He doesn't stop fucking her.

It's so hot. It's so, so hot that I wonder if I should stick my hand down my pants and grab myself and wank until I find release. But I'm still, somewhat, in my parents' room and both of them seem like they will come at any moment, now. So I continue to bite into my hand, bruising the flesh and rubbing myself through my jeans, wondering if I can come without touching myself.

"Uhn… Uh… AaahhhH! Yes!"

What he does next, though, takes the wind out of me.

Severus's claw-like fingers dig into her neck. He pins her down with one hand, choking her.

I feel like shouting, "GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER, YOU GIT!" But he won't hear me; what's done is done.

She's loosing breath, looking at him with over-bright eyes. He stares back with onyx ones.

_If she doesn't take a breath, she might die!_ I think, wildly, even though I know that's impossible. _Stop it, Severus!_ He continues to impale her with his cock, going faster and harder still. Until I see her eyes roll back into her head, and her toes curl.

He finally lets go, claw marks still on her smooth neck.

She takes a breath. And screams.

_She's coming_, I realize. I had never been able to get her to come during sex… I always had to use my hands afterwards. But now she's coming so powerfully and sending a prayer of gibberish and "Yes! _Yes! _YES!" Never realized she liked breath-play.

Severus follows her almost immediately, climaxing hard and grunting and moaning almost as loudly, until he sinks, sweat-soaked on top of her naked body.

Breathing heavily they both cling to each other. I touch myself lightly and find that I had come in my pants after all. He kisses her, a smoldering sort of kiss he used to kiss me with, and sighs into her hair, "And that was how I always hoped we'd loose our virginity." He smiles.

He traces a line of hair across her forehead. "I'm not a virgin," she says.

"Oh," he frowns. His face is lined with wonder. "You lost it with Potter, then?" He scoffs.

"No… I lost it when I was fourteen."

"Oh."

He stares at the sheets, a flush forming across his cheek. Surely, that's embarrassing. "To who?" he wonders aloud, trying to get her off of the topic of the fact that he was still a virgin, at twenty-two. I have a feeling he was saving himself for her.

"Gideon Prewett. Does it matter?"

He blushes, "I suppose not."

He licks his lips, trying to find a way to correct his mistake. "I just thought…"

"You just thought I'd wait. Until marriage," her voice has a clip on the end of it.

"That's not what I meant. I-it's not…" he swallows, "a _problem_. I just thought that you waited, that's all. I just assumed."

She rolls her eyes.

"Hey," he traced her cheek with his palm. "That was great, though, wasn't it?"

"For a virgin," she smiles. "No! I'm just kidding, it was great, Sev. Really." She kisses his neck.

He slips out of her, finally, and tosses the condom in the waste bin. He mutters a cleaning charm to wash them both of the stickiness, and returns to her arms.

_Good idea, Snape_, I think to myself, cleaning and drying my pants and y-fronts.

"Hmmm…" He gives her another languid kiss. "Lils?"

"Yes, Sev?"

They're on such colloquial terms… the last time I heard them address each other it was a curt "Snape" and "Evans"…

"Will you marry me?"

Lily gapes at him. Really, the man has no finesse. You don't just_ blurt out_ a question like that! "Are you being serious?"

"Why not?"

"Because… because we just got back together!" Lily sits up on the bed, her bare breasts bobbing as she speaks. Severus leans, nude as day, on the edge of the bed. "And I'm going out with James… and _you_…"

"James isn't worth your time. I told you that."

"Yes, but…" she sputters.

Suddenly I realize that _Remus_ hadn't been the one that told Lily that I had been cheating on her. That was a rouse. Lily wanted me to believe that she knew. Severus had told her everything. Well, I sniff, everything except for the fact that I was cheating on her with_ him_.

"I told you he's cheating on you! Don't you believe me?"

"Yes! I believe you… but…"

"Marry me, Lily. I'm serious," His eyes are alight with wondrous power. "I don't have a ring or anything. But I'd give you any ring. I'd give you anything."

"Anything? Severus…"

"I'd die for you!" He declares, almost shouting with praise. "I would!"

Lily doesn't respond, but just stares at him in wide-eyed wonder. It's not a kind, flattering wonder, though. It's a slightly fearful gaze, as if she thought that he was completely mad.

"I love you!" Severus grasps one of her freckled hands in two of his. "More than anything! I know I said it while we were having sex, but... I really mean it. I do!"

Her eyes slip off of his face and down to his breast, where the Lily is fluttering with Severus' heavy breathing. She touches it with one painted nail. He lets out a hiss as her finger passes over his nipple. She licks her lips. "Why did you get this tattoo?" she asks.

I think to myself that she is purposely avoiding the question. She's evading an answer, just like she did with me.

"Why do you think?" Severus asks, annoyed that she hadn't answered him.

"That's..." Lily rubs her forehead, perhaps finally reasoning that that flower was only on his chest because it was her namesake. She doesn't know what to do with this kind of fanatic flattery. "That's weird, Sev."

Snape's chest deflates like a balloon. He looks crushed.

I mean, it _is_ weird... in a trekkie sort-of way. He's positively obsessed with her, I realize that now. But that's no reason for Lils to be so mean.

"I can..." Severus' breathing is shallow, he looks as though he's been hit over the head, "I can get it removed." Oh, he sounds so hopeless. He grabs his wand from his bedstand, "I can remove it right now, if you want!"

Lily fists his hand, lifts his wand and sets it back on the table. He obviously doesn't get it.

I don't really understand why he hero-worships her so much. Don't get me wrong, she's wonderful. But I've gotten to know some things about her. She's not perfect. She has a very large mole near her vagina. She farts like no one's business. She's really impatient at grocery stores. She can't drive worth a shit.

Lily Evans isn't perfect, but he seems to want to obey her every whim. To lick her feet. To worship her freckles. How can he play it so cool with me but sound like a whiny teenager with her?

"I'd do anything for you, Lily," Severus breathes, trying to tell her what she already knows.

"Even become a death eater?"

"I wanted to keep you safe!" Snape snarls at the window. "The Dark Lord has been attacking muggle-borns... whose to say that you're not next?"

Lily glares. That was the wrong thing to say, Sev.

"I mean... I mean I'm worried about you!" The slytherin turns his argument around. "But if you married me... I would quit all of that. We could leave England. We could travel the world and not worry about the war..."

"I want you to leave him on your own."

"I... can't..." he whispers.

She glares at him, moisture lining her tired eyes, and begins to gather her clothes, putting a white bra back around her shoulders.

"Lily... Why do you let everyone else get in the way?" Severus whispers. "I want to be with you! Why do you let these shriveled old men dictate how we feel about each other?"

She stares at the ceiling, blinking tears. "I love James," she says, as if it were her final, most important reason.

I hadn't expected my name would come up. Especially not like that. I feel oddly flattered.

"I do too."

I calk my head sideways, staring at Severus, who is smiling slightly as if this was all in his plan.

Lily's eyes are as wide as galleons. She snorts, "What?" She giggles as if he had made some sublime joke.

"I've been meaning to tell you," Severus clutches at her hand again. "I _know_ you love him. And that's why I decided..."

Her jaw drops, so does mine.

"I mean... if you married him, then we wouldn't see each other again," he raises his arms and says, "Please don't be mad at me. But there's a reason that I know that he's cheating on you."

She looks like he's speaking Greek.

"But if you married _me_, you could have both of us. That's why I... he just... yeah."

He nods. She gapes, "Both of you? What are you talking about?"

He licks his lips and says, "I've been courting James."

"_WHAT?!_"

I can't help my face splitting into a grin even as my girlfriend starts hitting Severus repeatedly on the head with two pillows.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU... DAMN IT SEV!"

"I've been dating him so I could get back with you!" He says shielding his face with his arms. "He's not that bad. We could..."

"YOU SLEPT WITH MY BOYFRIEND TO GET BACK WITH ME?!"

"I didn't sleep with him! We haven't even gotten that far!"

"YOU STILL! UGH! SEVERUS!"

"I thought you might like it... if you married me we could all be together-"

"YOU DECEIVING SLUTTY SLYTHERIN!"

"I didn't mean...! I just! Thought we could..." He holds one of the pillows abreast so she can't hit him again. "I love you!"

"YOU _USED_ HIM!" She breathes heavily and I think to myself, _Thanks, honey._ "You USED him! Don't you have any conscience at all?"

"I..." sweat dribbles down his neck. " I love you." He sounds like a broken record.

"You're mad!" Lily huffs. "I'm getting the hell out of here."

Severus lifts a hand, his naked form standing in the way of the door as she throws on her underwear. "You can't..."

"YES- I- CAN!" Lily shouts, half-in, half-out of her jeans, and lifts her wand. "Get out of my way before I curse the hell out of you!"

"Think about it?" Severus mutters hopefully.

"You- you just..." Lily runs her fingers through her hair and puts on her shirt, buttoning all of the buttons with a charm, "UG!"

She runs out the door, leaving Severus to scratch his arm and stare bashfully after her, still naked.

He lets out a sigh, as do I. I'm thrown back into reality. I let out a snigger that I've been holding in. We're all so ridiculous. Apparently Severus is a great deal more dramatic that I initially thought...

My parents room is surrounding me, the smell of my mother fills my nostrils. I shake my head. So he thought we could "all be together", did he? I wish he had told me his master plan. Stealing my girlfriend by getting with me... it sounds so bad when you say it like that... but now that I've seen it in action I only feel a disdainful glee. A sort of happy pity fills me from my unruly hair to my toes. I snort and shake my head even more, shivering with laughter. How ridiculous! What a nut, Severus is. Did he really think Lily would just go for that? _Hey Lils, I just slept with you but I want you to marry me and James can come along for the ride too, if you like_.

_I_ would go for that, sure... but... poor Severus. He just doesn't get it. Marriage is a whole different thing.

I feel like I'm not mad at him anymore. That anger I had initially when I wrestled him in the mud of the alleyway is dripping off of my chest, pooling at my feet. I'm not angry at all, actually. I feel positively giddy, shaking with laughter and delight, wondering to myself if I've finally gone off the deep end...

Maybe it's because he had said, _I love James too._

I grin at the ceiling.


	10. Chapter 10: Severus's Happy Home

Gin/Ginny- G thanks 3.

Frayedsoul- I laughed at "sev/james action"! I make no promises but I will spookily say in a Trelawney-type fashion, "I see sexual situations in the fuuuutuuuuuure!" Do a lot of fanfictioners decide to kill off Snape's mum or something? I don't want to kill her! She seems like so much more of a fun character to mess around with. (Even when she's put into fics she's only portrayed as the victim of abuse it seems. I think the relationship between Tobias and her was a little more complicated that that…)

I'm glad you liked my decision to split the povs- I was wondering if people would be thrown off. "But I can imagine sev as a great lover"- Hah! So can I! SQUEE!

Avangeline­- Ah, yes. James's dad- stuff like that should put things into perspective. But it would appear like my characters are very obtuse.

Lily's not a whore. She just has very a very loose sexual morality. I sound like a politician but there you are.

As far as the threesome thing… well. Marriage certainly doesn't work like that. And I don't like polygamy. But I wouldn't call what they have now divided love… they're just really confused. Initially it could work if they all loved each other equally. But. Eventually one person will be siphoned away. Who will it be? MUAHAHA!

Audriella- Left field? Been there done that. Now I'm in the center field.

Thanks I'm glad you like the split p-o-vs. Poor silly Slytherin indeed.

* * *

I've been forming an apology in my head for three days. I have a list of things on a page of my steno notepad, of things to tell Severus I feel guilty about. Beating him up in general was bad. Putting him in the dumpster was bad too. I hope he understands I was just overreacting. I also need to tell him that he's a wonderful person. Over and over again. I find that tends to help when one is giving a good apology.

I feel like I'm writing a bloody inaugural speech. I've got all my little notes on my pad of paper on my desk. I should be working on other things but I keep adding ideas to it. My excuse is that it needs to be a good apology.

A _proper_ apology too… not just a list of things I've done wrong but the _reasons_ I feel bad and how I hope to make it better. My mum taught me this technique, "I feel… because I… and you… and this is what I want…" Teenage boys are never very good at revealing their emotions. She tried to teach me to be more sensitive, to be nurturing to my own feelings. Never worked, but there you are.

I feel shitty. Because I treated you like dirt for ten years. And you still hate me.

And I want…

What do I want?

Lily? Severus?

I don't have any plans for anything. I'm going to go into this head first like the Gryffindor I know I am. But there is one thing I want: for Severus to understand. For him to forgive me. For him to think of me as a friend (hopefully more than that, but I don't even know if he's attracted to me at this point).

It's hard to concentrate on one's work when one is about to lose his job anyway.

Kingsley keeps poking his head over the cubical wall at me. Whenever I catch him he walks away. His bald head is constantly in my peripheral vision. Rookwood seemed unnaturally giddy all morning (at first I just assumed he had too much caffeine but he only seems to be smiling at _me_). Longbottom and Dawlish keep giving me apologetic glances, as if they were told I had just contracted Syphilis.

Jesus. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm going to loose my job and there's really nothing I can do about it. Kingsley is going to kill me if he sees what I've actually been working on (a list of the times I've beaten Severus up in school). I can't bring myself to care.

When he finally calls me to his messy, poster-strewn office, I know its over.

"I want you to explain to me why you're affiliating with Death Eaters," says Kingsley.

A trickle of sweat runs down my neck. The best thing to do now is to come clean.

"Not Death Eaters. Only one, Severus Snape. And he saved my girlfriend."

Kingsley scratches his bald head and lets out a sigh, "Potter, you're a fine kid. I know you're in Gryffindor and your family has been composed of muggle-lovers for centuries and you are going out with a muggle-born and you are sworn against Voldemort. Heard you escaped him, even." I nod, feverishly remembering the night that Lily and I had escaped his hideout in seventh year. What an adventure that had been… we nearly died and Voldemort has wanted our blood for years. "But by Merlin! Why do you have to make it so fucking hard for me?"

I toe the floor with a polished brown shoe.

"I remember when I first laid eyes on you," He grumbles, scathingly. "You were a little first year with giant glasses. Every other kid was scared out of his boots, but you had your chin up, looking around at the Gryffindor table and I thought, _man, that kid's going to go far_." I stare at the ceiling guiltily. "And what the fuck have you been doing? Running around with death eaters? And then not even _telling_ your superior that you've been in contact with a criminal? And then just letting him go?! Half of the auror department wants me to fire you! The other half wants you to do time! You just _watched_ a death eater use that funky curse on a muggle and let him go?"

"I didn't know he was a death eater. I still don't!" I bark.

"So he's just some dark-arts buff who's running around in a mask, then?"

_A mask_? What had that black man told him?

"Sir… Severus Snape is my friend. He's an ally. He might be a little ambiguous as to where he stands… but a Death Eater? What was I supposed to do? Turn around and attack the man who just saved my wife-to-be?"

I try to ignore the fact that that was exactly what I did.

"YES!" barks Kingsley, "You should have arrested him!"

"And what about those muggles?" I feel my face flush with anger. "I heard you let them off! You let those _rapists_ off and you want me to hunt a _good_ _guy_?!"

Kingsley breathes out deep, dark African breaths. He eyes me with his dark eyes as if finally seeing how upset I am. "We're at war," he says finally.

"I _know_ that, sir. I hadn't even the time to catch him anyway. I was too distracted by trying to stun the rest of the gang. I thought perhaps it was more important to capture the rapists. Apparently I have to rearrange my priorities."

He folds his arms, the tight, black muscles suddenly gleaming between the folds of his robes… he looks so impressionable that way. "For your information, code 4C specifically states that in that situation we should leave the prosecution and capture of the perpetrators to the muggle authorities. That law has been around since the seventeen hundreds. Do you want to go about changing it?" I scoff.

Kingsley continues, "AND! For your information I didNOT _just_ _let them off_. We handed them over to the muggle authorities but since there were no witnesses of their kind," _Muggles_, I think to myself, _but what about the black man?_ "as well as no proof of the encounter considering we wiped their memories, they were set free."

"That's bureaucratic bullshit and you know it. You let them go."

"You should be fired, Potter!" My jaw clenches.

"I'm sorry, sir," I murmur, "but I did what I thought was right. Apparently that doesn't fit in with the law." I turn, grab my jacket, and make for the door.

And I'm back at my desk. I'm throwing things in a cardboard box helter-skelter, heaving notebook after notebook, a box of pens, a box of pencils, five new quills, ink bottles, scrolls, my _Guide to Muggle Enforcement_ booklet, and a sizable electric lamp that Lily had gotten me for my last birthday ("I saw it in a popular muggle crime show," she had explained, "Ought to make your desk really rugged and suave"). I rip up purple memo after purple memo, some of them pinned to my cubical wall, others still in the shape of paper airplanes. My gleaming name on a black background with gold letters blinks at me, JAMES POTTER, OUTSIDE ASSOCIATE. It had been a source of great pride when I first got it; my mother had been cooing with praise. I run two fingers over the indented letters and place it, somewhat more gingerly into the box on top of a stray copy of _Qudditch Weekly_. Blinking at the dark, empty, lonely desk in front of me, I am about to stick my fingers into the convenient holes on the side of the box and leave when I hear his voice.

"I've thought of a way that I can keep you on," says Kingsley, his arms folded again, leaning against the side of my cubical.

I glare at him over the rim of my glasses, gripping the box with two hands.

"I don't want to let you go, Potter," he explains, "You'd be a kick-ass auror if anyone ever gave you the chance," _Doubt that'll happen_, I almost mumble. "But this is department policy, you gotta understand I don't have much choice." I nod, though hardly believing that. "I don't! Rookwood's been breathing down my neck to fire your for ages, you know. I know it sounds strange but the odds were stacked up against you. Instead of three-strikes-your-out it's turned to one. And it's not just you. Other fine young men have been turned down," he meets my eyes. I can smell the saltiness of his sweat, the unusual but smooth aroma of a black man. "If you ask me, I think there's people here that don't want a lot of able-bodied young aurors around."

My dark eyes widen, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," He hastily looks around his shoulder to make sure no one's listening. No one is, it's nearly midnight and everyone has gone home save the janitor, but he lowers his voice anyway, "I think that… _He_ has some of his people in the department. _He_ is trying to get involved… and there are plenty of people higher than me that he has either in his pocket, or sympathetic to his cause. Ten years ago somebody like you would have had no problem getting in this department," I feel my ego and esteem swell. I never realized Kingsley had such faith in me. "But now… son-of-a-bitch, James. I'm so sorry having to do this to you." He hadn't called me James in a long time, not since second-year when he pulled me out of a trick step at Hogwarts. "The ministry is infested. Either by _his_ people or by people like Crouch who go by the books. You've got a good heart kid. I don't want you to believe what you did was wrong. I'm just playing a role, here."

I nod, feeling a little feeble and wet-eyed.

"But anyway. I thought of a way to keep you as an anonymous consultant. You'd get a smaller paycheck, obviously. It would just be for a few months. On an individual task."

My sweat seems to cool all at once on my forehead. "What individual task?"

"I want you to keep an eye on Severus Snape."

With a clunk, one hand drops the box, sending a spray of pens across the office floor. I put it down a flex my hand, feeling the room swirl around me as if I've just downed four pints of beer. "That's…" I can't breath. It feels like Severus' hands are on my neck, choking me. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Kinsgley asks, "You are in contact with him. You're one of the few people close to him. He's been in a black-market potions ring for years now-"

"Most great potion masters are!" I whisper.

"If he's involved with Voldemort he's got to be one of the best!" Kingsley says, eyes alighting with earnest. "He's got to be one of the top three! The man is _brilliant_. He passed all his NEWTs with top marks. If he's with _him_, he's going to be a real asset."

"Absolutely not!" I say indignantly. "He's a friend. I can't get my personal business involved…"

"You can't honestly believe that all he does is run a potions shop and bartend?" _How did he know that? Dumbledore must've told him…_ "James… we need to make sure he's not on His side."

"What if he is, then?" I nearly shout, "I should kill him or throw him in Azkaban?"

"Try to turn him!" Kingsley says.

"I…" Could I really if I tried? Would he listen to me if I begged him? I doubt what I have to say will have any influence on what he does. "I can't anyway. He's not talking to me anymore. We're not in constant contact."

"Befriend him! Get him to trust you!"

_I thought I had_, I think to myself. "Sir, this is inappropriate. I can't."

_Lily could change him, _I think to myself, heart pounding. I'm disgusted at myself for even considering that. "I quit."

"You can't honestly mean…"

"Yes," I say more firmly, "I quit. Good day, sir."

With that, I summon the pile of pens from the floor, set them in the box, walk out the door, and apparate home.

* * *

Tobias is driving me up the bloody wall.

The first day was worse than that time in the summer after fifth year when Mum went on holiday and Tobias was constantly trying to get me to play cricket and football with him. He just flitters in and out of my life and comes back expecting to be buddy-buddy.

He broke three- THREE- of my expensive test tubes from Bulgaria. He smoked a cigarette in the living room (said he _forgot_). He made us chilly for dinner (I-hate-chilly). And he won't stay out of my basement.

MY basement. The basement I'm paying for. The basement that I _begged_ him to stay clear of. Why doesn't he listen to me? It's like he's expecting to find stolen diamonds or a collection of pornographic films or something. It's not like I'm making these rules up to be a jerk. The last time his hand _miraculously_ landed in a bowl of murtlap essence, and it shriveled like a raison. Luckily I had been there.

He's like a four-year-old, I swear. When did _I_ become the parent and he the child?

And he won't- WON'T- keep asking me about my relationships. Each time I say, "Dad, I don't want to talk about it." Fifteen minutes later he's asking me the same question. I keep telling him he has Alzheimer's. Doesn't work.

He asks me if I have a boyfriend. I tell him he's mad. Maybe when I said "if have a girl over or a guy it's none of your business" he took it to mean that I'm dating a man. Apparently he's far more intuitive than I thought. I'm wondering if I should just tell him about James because he's just going to keep annoying me, or to wait it out and see if he'll change the subject. I tell him I'm not dating anyone at the moment. It's the truth, so I don't feel guilty.

It's odd having him around. He gets in my way so often I feel like I'm going mad. And yet, there are moments that I'm glad he's here. Like when he packed me a sandwich for work today and when we talked at length last night about _I Love Lucy. _Irrelevant to my life but oddly welcome, in the same way that Barry is welcome. They're both annoying buggars to take care of, but I still grow sad when they leave. Maybe it's because I'm remembering James's father's poor memory, and I think about what it would be like if my father actually did have something like Alzheimer's. That would be terrible. I do love him deep down… I just think he should get out of my damned house.

I'm off to work in the morning. Tobias packed me a lunch, a slimy-looking salami sandwich. It looks disgusting, but welcome; I usually have to buy soggy fish and chips. I tell him I'll be home in the afternoon and shut the door behind me. It's a warm, comforting feeling in my gut- that someone will be there when I get home.

I'm already growing into a lonely, gibbering old man.

* * *

I nervously fiddle with my tie. Going through the speech I've prepared over and over again in my head hasn't prepared me for seeing Severus's door at Spinner's End again. Panicking, I'm wondering if I shouldn't have shown up here at all.

_I'm here to tell him that I'm sorry_¸ I tell myself again. Sorry?

_Sorry for punching him in the stomach. Sorry for throwing him in the dumpster. Sorry for not trying to understand-_

But he's so difficult! He's the one who-

_Sorry for picking on him with school. Sorry for not giving him a chance with Lily_-

I can't mention school again. That's so bloody pathetic-

_But Severus mentioned it. It's obviously still bothering him_.

I tug at my shirt, staring at the door.

_Also to tell him that I think I might love him…That I forgive him for trying to steal Lily…_

I gulp.

When I feel my own fingers raping at the door, I panic even more, entertaining the notion of running into a neighboring bush but all to soon the door opens and…

This isn't Severus…

A tall, very impressionable man licks at a spoon dipped in yogurt and leans against the doorframe. His stocky appearance, from his work boots to his leather belt to his starch-collared shirt is nothing like the Severus I know. There is an impressionable thickness in his neck, his back that Severus's feminine body conspiciously lacks. His wide, stick-like fingers grip the spoon like it's an axe. But his face is somewhat familiar. His eyebrows, his cheeks, his wide shoulders resemble Snape's to a tee.

"'Lo," says the man, popping the spoon in his mouth and slurping up the vanilla goo. I gawk, and he raises an eyebrow like how any true Slytherin would, "Selling something?"

"I'm…" I babble, heart quickening because this man isn't my love, "James. I'm here to see Severus… is he home?"

"At work," the man says, shaking his shorthaired head. "Like any good twenty-something-year-old should be."

I bristle. "Do…" I whisper, "do'u know when he'll be back?"

He shrugs as if to say, _beats me_.

"Didn't know that Severus had a flatmate."

The man smiles, his goatee widening as he does, and protrudes a hand, "Hardly. I'm Tobias Snape."

"His father?" I ask, shaking his hand. I thought he didn't like his father.

"Right you are," he pulls back his hand and continues to eat his yogurt. "Severus shouldn't be back 'till the afternoon, I think. But don't quote me on that. Some of his shifts are a little odd."

He eyes my frame, as if drinking me in, not quite knowing what to do with me.

"You're not one of them… loonies, are yeh?"

I stare.

"I'm a wizard if that's what you mean."

"Nah, that's not…" He shakes his head, "My wife and son are loonies in that case. I mean one of those…" He gesticulates as if trying to come up with a word, "mask-wearers. One of them weirdos?"

_Is he trying to say, a death eater?_ I gulp. _Does that mean there have been death eaters here_?

"I'm not going to attack you if that's what you mean."

"Hmm," he rubs his chin. "Why don't you come in?"

I tentatively follow him into the living room. My shoes feel far too heavy on the soft brown carpet of the mat, so I toe them off, deciding that this would be more polite.

Tobias takes a seat on an old plaid couch and pats the cushion next to him, beckoning me wordlessly to take a seat. "Should be back soon," he says. "Might as well hang around here if it's important. My guess is that it _is _important?"

I nod, my throat feeling dry. I lower my hips onto the old cushion as slowly as one leaning over a prickly bush. Tobias grins in that same mischievous way that his son does. As if he knows something that I don't. As if he's going to play with me like a cat with a ball of yarn.

"What did you say your name was?"

"James Potter, sir."

He fingers the vanilla yogurt off of his goatee in one smooth stroke. "Potter? That's a good strong English name. You related to the Dorset Potters?"

"No, sir," I say softly. "I'm in a wizarding family, sir."

"Ah," he twists one tuft of mustache around his finger, leaning back in his chair. "Nobody I'd know then. Forgive me, you'd be one of the few wizard's I've met outside of my family," he then eyes me. "Didn't mean to offend."

"I'm not offended, sir," I tell him. "Why would I be?"

He bristles, as if the cold wind had blown across his back. A twitch goes off in his lower jaw. "Oh, it's just some of Severus' friends are a bit- techy- about their lineage."

I lick my lips, "Like who?"

"Well, like Lucius Malfoy. Blond kid… probably a few years a head of you boys…"

"I know him," I realize that one of my hands has balled into a fist around my tie.

"He's a real snob. Lil' shit. But Severus likes him, so," He throws up his hands. As if remembering himself, he slaps his knee and raises himself gingerly up. "What kind of a host am I? Would you like some tea?"

I'm beginning to wonder if it is dangerous sitting with this man, "Sure."

He smiles and ambles towards the kitchen. I look around the room in his absence, inspecting the old, mismatched furniture when a clunking sound of a teapot on a stove emits behind the wall and his voice calls, "If you're bored, there are always the embarrassing family albums on your left. Just don't tell Severus I showed 'em to you."

Grinning ear-to-ear, finally coming to like this guy, I toss a blue album on my lap and begin skimming through baby pictures. If he could see me giggling over the picture of him naked and dripping from the bath and wrapped only in a towel, Severus would kill me. My eyes strain as I keep expecting these pictures to move, but I know they don't. Muggle pictures are always odd to me. Less like animated characters on a page but more like frozen vacuums where time stops and life slows. Like memories caught in mid-action and forced to pause.

I continue to peruse, skipping a few pictures here and there. There a few years that Severus seemed to have forgotten how to smile (_maybe he'd lost a few teeth and refused to show them_, I think hopefully). He looks about nine.

But it doesn't get better… his absent smiles become either angry glares or blank, bored stares. His teeth weren't _that_ bad then…

There are only a few of his smiles in this crumbling record of his childhood. I only find three. They're are all with Lily. The first is in a playground. Severus seemed to be tickling her. They are both in a fit of giggles. The second is a birthday picture- though I'm not sure who's. A large chocolate cake is in the background topped with flaming candles. Severus and Lily both smile at the camera, leaning over the cake as if just about to stick their fingers in. The third is far later in the album, when the years pass between photographs at an alarming rate. They look fourteen. He has his arms around her. They are cheek-to-cheek in glee.

As I flip through the pages, Tobias lets out a gasp of realization, sending a shock down to my toes so that I nearly jump three inches off of the chair. He sets down the tea and takes a seat.

He grins at me, looking down his nose. "I _knew_ I recognized your name. James Potter. Used to beat the crap out of my kid in secondary school."

When he says it like that, he makes me feel like the most evil, the slimiest, violent, disillusioned villain in the whole wide world. "I… didn't mean t-"

"That's alright though. No need to apologize to me. He probably seemed like the weak on of your class, yes?" I feel sweat trickle down to my collar, and I lean against the quilted armrest. "The one that everybody picked on? The scapegoat?"

My voice fails me.

"He probably deserved to be hit, then. No son of mine is to be the weak one," Tobias leers.

I bite back the retort that that's a horrid thing to tell a fifteen-year-old.

"He always had trouble learning how to _fight back_," Tobias scoffs at the muggle photograph of his son. "I used to tell him all the time: _If someone keeps bothering you, kick him in the nuts._ Didn't listen to me! Too _muggle_, he'd say. Too simple. He had to come up with some grand scheme. To use his mind, when in the end he'd just get the crap beat out of him again. Didn't believe me. I mean he isn't even that weak!" Tobias complains, throwing up his arms.

He gesticulates towards me, palms outstretched, "I mean, he could probably have taken you. You're not _that_ strong. If he just kicked you in the nuts you probably would've left him alone. Am I right?"

I nod feverishly, if only to appease this very angry man.

"_I can't_, he'd say," says Tobias, mimicking a scared, teenaged voice. "_Four against one_! He'd say. I said to just give them the old one-two. And if you can't pull out your wand fast enough, well, just stick it up their arses, damn it."

I feel myself blush, wondering if a wand stuck in my arse is in my future. I take the teacup in my shaking hands and sip it, burning my tongue, "But… sir…" I sputter, "I mean, that's not the _Christian_ thing to do."

"Christian-Smistian. His mother kept on putting those ideas in his head," Tobias raises his index finger to the ceiling. "If someone hits you, you don't just sit there and take it, you _hit back_!"

I swallow, thinking that if Severus tried to beat me up, Tobias would just survey the damage and finish the job if it was not to his liking.

"He's a nancy-boy," Tobias huffs finally.

"No he's not!" I say, turning bright red because… I mean… he _is_. "I resent that. Just because he didn't fight back… it doesn't make him any less masculine."

Oddly enough, he smiles at me and says, "I like you. I like that you are willing to disagree. Even though you probably thought he was a nancy-boy at school."

My mind wanders back to that time, "I didn't… but I did think he was… weak… and… not worth anyone's trouble."

Tobias nods.

"But I was wrong!"

"Of course you were, our Sev is a great kid." Tobias takes a toothpick out of his pocket and sticks it in his teeth, puffing at it as if wishing it were a cigarette. "A nancy-kid though."

Heat flushes into my cheeks.

"You're in a relationship with him, aren't you?"

I don't even have time to gasp, he continues.

"I can tell by the way you're blushing, boy," He grins through his toothpick, "You blush whenever I say nancy-boy."

Damn it.

"Just don't tell Eileen. God knows, she'll have a heart attack."

"How did you…" I can feel my mouth drop of it's own accord, the tendons in my jaw letting loose. "_How_ did you just? Did Se-"

"It's just something Severus said," mutters Tobias, chewing on his toothpick. "Something about inviting a boy over…"

And, like the wind invisibly chilling up my back, I feel the presence of another person in the room…

"_What's this_?"

I almost split the saucer in two when I smash the teacup back onto it. I leap out of my chair, standing up and shakily finding my lover's eyes. "Severus!"

He surveys the scene, sneering, and finds my eyes again. "What the fuck is this?"

"I… we…" I gesture to the tea, and to Tobias who is chewing his toothpick, unimpressed. "We need to talk."

Severus' thick black hair hangs in his stressed, pallid face. He's wearing muggle work clothes. His shoulders are slumped. He looks like his odd, out-of-place, eccentric, freaky, weirdo-self. And yet the sight couldn't be more welcome.

His eyes widen, as if how _dare_ I ask that, _you filthy peasant_. "No! Get out of my house!"

"I've invited him in," Tobias says jovially, "We were having tea."

"Fuck that!" Severus gesticulates, throwing his hands up. "Get the fuck out of here!"

"Language, boy," Tobias growls.

I clutch my steno pad in my hands, pressing them together in prayer, memorizing that strange, high-cheekboned, calming face. I try to glimpse his eyes, but he turns to his father distractedly.

"You're the one who taught me this language, _Father_. Potter! I don't know who you think you are but you can't just-"

"Severus…" I whisper, "please…"

Hearing his name come from my voice may have tipped the scale in my favor. He stops his rant, mid-sentence, and glares at the floor, tongue in cheek.

"Please… I… we need to talk. I've come here to apologize," I say with my softest, most soothing voice.

"Apologize!" he barks. "Apologize?!"

Tobias's eyebrows rise to the ceiling.

"For what, Potter? For tormenting me for seven years? For beating me up at school in a regular basis? For putting me in the dumpster? _What_?"

My bottom lip trembles- this is not going like how I planned.

"For having tea and crumpets with my father and telling him how fucking _gay_ I am?" He snarls, "What?!"

"I-I'm… I'm sorry!"

His hands fall to his sides and ball in to fist. He turns away, muttering, "What a pile of bullshit."

Gathering up my anger, and my pride I mutter, "Since _I_ am the one who is _more honest_ in my relationships, I think that _I_ am the one to discern what is or is not _bullshit_."

That shuts him up. He has a look on his face like someone had cut out his tongue and replaced it with a sour lime. "Potter…" he mutters.

"It's James. Typically you call the person you are dating by his first name."

His eyes flicker to Tobias, who is staring through his album again, blushing.

"James..."

The sound of my voice on his lips makes me feel ridiculously elated. We're going to make it… we're going to be all right.

"You can't just…" he runs his fingers through his velvety black hair, glancing at Tobias through his dark eyelashes, "Let's go upstairs."

I follow him. But then I wish I hadn't… this is the same room that I had spooned up against him, the same plain, dull room that he had _fucked_ her. My knees buckle slightly as I see the bed, not made, sheets strewn about the place. I wonder if he's washed them… probably not.

He turns and folds his arms in one elegant motion. He's wearing his work shirt and black tie again. He stares impassively, "I'm listening."

My face flushes. The list is forgotten when I say, "I am too." When Severus says nothing I grind my teeth and mutter, "Was this all really a grand scheme to get revenge for my bullying?"

There is a twitch of a sly grin on the corner of his lip, "Not really."

A little disappointed by that answer (for a reason I can't place) I mumble, "Or was it merely to shag my girlfriend? I hear you succeeded…"

The corner of his eyebrow raises, but he pulls it back quickly into his emotionless frown- he's trying to hide how he feels. I'm worried because he was always good at that. "I had sex with her, yes."

He is the most evil, disillusioned, horrible person for saying that so impassively, saying it as if he didn't love her. I feel like spitting in his face, like pulling his hair and throwing him against the wall. Or better yet, I could just walk out… leave and pretend this encounter had never happened, that it's over…

"You are a disgusting human being, Severus Snape."

He smiles.

I grimace, feeling so angry with him that I would rather punch him in the nose _again_ than apologize for punching him in the nose.

His smile fades as the moments drag on, as if he were internalizing that statement as the truth. I disappointedly stuff my hands in my pockets. If our eyes had personas, they would be having a sword fight. We're silently telling each other that the hate between us can never, ever be changed. He's invisibly placing the mask on … the mask of the evil Slytherin. I can see his kind, sensitive soul whip it over his face until it becomes that monstrous, hate-filled expression. "You knew that already, though. So damn yourself if need be." Why must he hide his true feelings, the feelings, I _know_ he has for me?

I only silently stare. He tears himself away from my gaze as if it were costing him too much energy to maintain the persona and paces up and down the room. "I'm surprised you haven't hexed me yet."

I survey his lean body as he steps past me, curious if he feels any guilt at all for what he's done. "Do you _want_ me to hex you?"

Severus stops mid step, the mask cracks when he looks at me, "I don't know."

That tells me enough.

* * *

James walks up to me until we're nose-to-nose. I can see the screws in his square glasses and the stray hairs on his eyebrows. My lips purse as I try to hold in my heavy breath. His cheeks flush, the quirk in his smile showing the mischief behind his eyes. It's the same dangerous look he often got when he was about to hex me or beat me up in school… only I've never seen it this close… I now realize how positively lustful it is. I lick my lips, trying to make my body as tight and still as possible, sucking in my stomach, tightening my shoulders.

I can see the words forming behind his eyes, but he doesn't say them. The silent, _Oh, really? Is that because you're sorry?_

I swallow. And all of a sudden he pushes me hard in the middle. I wobble for a moment, and finally bring myself to balance when he shoves me again. This is exactly how he used to push me around in school. I feel as weak and as vulnerable as then. "Stop it," I say, annoyed. We're adults now, what game is he playing at?

I shove back. His shoulders are firm and taught in my hands as I drive him backward. He makes a _noise_… a half-laugh, half-giggle. He pushes me again.

"What are you…? Stop it!" I say commandingly. But he only makes that noise again and grips me around the stomach, toppling me down on to the bed.

My heart beats fast as he pushes me down with all his might, clutching my wrists in his hands. I should have expected this, even when the warm liquid of his spit hits my cheek.

I wince, staring up at him. He's straddling me with a mad gleam in his eye; a triumph.

"Feel better?" I mock, trying to wipe my face on my pillow.

"What? " he asks. His grip on my wrist tightens painfully.

"You plan on beating me up in my own house," I tell him, "to avenge your wounded masculinity. Do you feel better now that you have me at your mercy?"

"My wounded-" He gasps, looking at me scoldingly. "Snivellus. I've come to get an apology from you. For lying to me."

"Hah!" I growl. "As if that would ever happen!"

I retaliate, pushing my wrists up so that he struggles to keep me pinned down. We flip over each other, twisting and biting and sucker-punching.

So we're making amends by wrestling, are we? Well, I'll win, by God. Our smooth stomachs wobble against each other, until I wrap both my legs around him, twirling us over the sheets until he's stomach-down underneath me. I twist his arm behind his back and bite his shoulder.

"Ha-ow!" James flails underneath me, his legs moving up and down. When my other hand passes over the soft skin between his pelvic bone and stomach he squirms and giggles. I tickle him mercilessly. His odd movements affect me. His arse jumps in the air as I push his face deep into the pillow, playfully suffocating him.

"You were going to apologize?" I say with a rough twist of his arm.

He glances at the steno pad that he had dropped on the floor and lets out a soft moan. He's still trying to fight it, trying to get me to apologize first. He mutters into his sleeve, "Ishountathrewyouinthegarbage."

"What's that?"

He coughs, "I shouldn't have put you in the dumpster. I…" He meets my eyes again. Our eyes are no longer battling but dancing together, "I… overreacted."

"Overreacted," I repeat, unscoldingly and unsurprised but satisfied, "Very well. Apology accepted."

"What about me?" he asks.

I press my entire body against him, from my toes to my groin to my chest. My tongue licks the wide expanse of his cheek, dwelling on the place behind his earlobe, "What about you?"

He wriggles his bum against my hardness. "I fell for you, you know. I wasn't faking it."

It's his way of telling me that he wants his apology, and that, if wrestling doesn't work, guilt-trips will. My cool fingers find the base of his warm neck. His lips are pressed against mine. My soft, chapped lips mush against his wide, warm ones. My tongue wanders into his welcome wet mouth. He opens his mouth wider and sucks it in. I pull away with a wet sigh.

He still wants me... I can hardly believe it but he does...

"And you think _I _was faking it?" I nearly growl.

He twists around to face me properly, lying on his back. His glasses are askew, but his eyes shine over-bright behind them, inspecting me. There's a trickle of sweat on his forehead. His starch white shirt is damp.

My arm swings behind my back, and I flip head first in one fluid motion, landing my bum on the floor. James has me pinned to the side of the mattress, with one arm behind my back. His other arm is around my neck, and the more I flail the more he suffocates me. "Prove to me that you weren't."

My free arm attempts at retaliation by pulling off his glasses. He growls and pins my hand to the bed with his meaty calf. He brings his face close to mine. I see him, upside-down. He's blinking blindly and squinting as if trying to see me through a haze.

"You told me that you didn't love me," he says.

His breath wisps my forehead. "You're an idiot."

His eyes catch the gleam of the sunlight, his face forming a placid expression, like that of Roman busts. His grip on my neck and my arm loosens. My palm holds his chiseled face, thumb wandering over his strong chin, finger running along his long, perfect nose. I tenderly put his square glasses back.

"Are you saying that you _do_ love me?" he asks.

"No! I never said that…"

He kisses me. My lips are on his again. It's awkward at first, his tongue and lips are right side down. But… it feels so good to kiss a man… the strong scent, the welcome stubble. He opens his mouth wantonly. I lick his full, velvety lips and the soft back of his tongue.

When we separate, I stare into his big, kind brown eyes.

"I just want you to be honest with me."

"Honesty is merely a matter of perspective," I tell him. It's always been my excuse. Trust me to make a Star Wars quote one of my moral standbys.

"Well then, what's yours?"

I sigh and bring myself upright until I'm lying, side-by-side with him on the bed. We stare at the ceiling. I say, "I hate you."

James looks annoyed. "I suppose I should have known that already."

"No," I say, "you don't understand. I _really_ hate you."

"Thanks."

I bite my lip, trying to come up with a way to explain it. Trying to get him to stop looking at the white ceiling as though it hates him too. "No… you don't get it. I… I hate you more than I've loved anyone else."

That came out way more pathetic than I thought it would. His eyebrows stretch, and he stares at me in shock and disbelief and pity. And a blush, a tiny one, but it's there, graces his cheeks. "I was thinking about it the other day…" I plow on, before _I_ blush too, "and… I mean… Had I not been so pissed off at you, I would have never called Lily a mudblood."

"Oh. So it's my fault that you fucked up your relati-"

I cut him off, "Let me finish. I was so busy being mad at you that I never gave Lily the respect and love she deserved. I was always trying to get back at you. I mean… in a way we've been obsessing over each other for years."

"You've been obsessing over _me_ you mean."

"Don't pretend you didn't have an unhealthy fascination with _pull-the-pants-off-the-slimy-Slytherin_."

James smiles. "You were my favorite slimy Slytherin, I'll give you that."

"Anyways, I've been trying to get at why my relationship with Lily never works out. She just…" I grimace, "And it's _not_ because your relationship with her is any better." I feel like I'm finally vocalizing the ball of tightness in my chest, to somebody who I never thought I could. He lays there, passively, calmly. Just listening. "It's never been easy for me to be intimate with her. Not since school. I don't necessarily mean _physically_," I say to respond to his look of disbelief, "I just can't open up to her in the same way. I always feel like an idiot. And," I feel myself tearing at the roots of my hair of my hands' own accord, "it was just _so easy_ for me to open up to _you_. My sworn enemy! I felt like I was closer to you than the person I was supposed to love more than anyone else!"

James blinks. He looks away as though someone had temporarily stunned him and slowly finds my eyes again. "Why's that?"

"Because I've always hated you more than I've loved her."

Twin emotions flutter across his visage. The first seems like elated joy, the love he feels that he's the more important in my life, and the second is anger, for Lily. How did I get to this point? Where I practically know what he's thinking merely by a glance? "And you want me to be flattered by that?"

"Not… flattered. You told me to be honest. I'm being honest."

James nods, not happy but seemingly content, academically satisfied.

"And it was stupid of me to go after you. Lily's right... I _used_ you. I could have found another way to get back with her, instead I ruined my relationship with her again. Now she just thinks I'm even more dishonorable and disgusting," I sigh. "I wanted to go after you. I just... I don't know why. It felt right. At the time."

"Your right. It did," he whispers. Warmth fills the ventricles of my heart. We stare at each other for a moment, and my hands wander to touch his body.

"Mind being honest with me, sometimes?" His form is jagged, rough and smooth. My hand wanders just above the waistband of his trousers. I feel the muscles in his abs harden. It's so different, so stronger, than Lily's jello-like belly. When I touch her it's always like I'm afraid to break her. When I touch him I _want_ to break him. I want him to break me…

James continues to stare up at me with a small grin tugging at his lower lip, "I'm always honest."

"'Course you are. Idiot Gryffindor." I'm only touching his stomach through his shirt and my heart is beating faster than it ever has. I might be falling for my schoolyard bully. The irony in my life astounds me. I want to tell him I love him. Right now. But I love _Lily_. This is mad.

His brown eyes twinkle… He knows.

"I'm sorry I beat you up," he says.

"When?" I ask.

"Whenever," James says, pulling me into a proper embrace, tugging his arms around me, "I meant when I put you in the dumpster. But whenever…"

I scoff at him. "Surely you should know better than to expect me to forgive you for seven years of pure hell in one sitting."

He sighs, and looks at the curtain-covered window, "I know. But I thought I'd start small." He gives a meaningful glance to the stenopad on the floor and curiosity burns in my brain as I scoop it up off of the floor and flip through the pages.

He dives, making a disparaging noise and tries to rip the notebook from my fingertips. I wrestle with him one-handed, tickling him until he's trapped, facedown, underneath my midsection.

"What the hell is this?"

* * *

Severus flips through. As his smile widens from page to page my blush grows redder. He sniggers at one sentence. I put my face in my hands, like a Hufflepuff girl whose crush is reading her diary. He flips the pages, and frowns at one point too. When he gingerly shuts the volume a calm smile graces his lips. "You're adorable."

He pockets the book and kisses my cheek.

"And what about me? Don't _I_ get a book of apologies?"

Severus's hands are wandering up and down my back. I'm relaxing, _melting_ as we lay on his bed together. "No," Severus says. I gasp. "I'm not really sorry. Even wrestling with you in the alley was sort of entertaining…"

"Severus…"

"Double-crossing you might have been bad, alright? But I love who I love… surely _you_ can relate to that." My heart suddenly feels twice its size, beating twice as loudly. "But I _am_ sorry for saying I never loved you. And you didn't deserve it. Nobody deserves that."

"You," I clutch at his hands and pull them to my chest, I feel as overdramatic as a silent film star and as giddy as a five-year-old, "love me? I thought you said you hated me..."

He blushes from all of the undue attention. "I do hate you. Idiot." My eyes are as wide as galleons. His jaw clenches and unclenches as though aggravated by my dense need to point out and highlight what he had been planning to skate over.

"You love me." A grin splits my face in two. He looks at me shrewdly.

"Now how in Merlin's name do you know that? I just double-crossed you, did I not? How do you know I'm not going to continue to go after your girlfriend as you fall head-over-heels over me? How do you know that I won't jinx you _right now_ in a million pieces, put you in a box, and ship you to your desk at the ministry where you will spend your life as a paperweight?"

"Because you _love_ me." My smile is as wide as my shoulders, "And you can't send me to my desk at the ministry because I've lost my job."

He looks like someone hit him over the head with a very large paperweight.

"Lost you job?" He mumbles. I nod, still not loosing my smile as he panics. "You lost your job because you lied about me?"

I nod.

"And you still came here to apologize?" He asks squeakily.

I nod.

"You really are an idiot!"

"An idiot whom you _love_!"

"So help me God."

He bites his lip. "I'm sorry…"

"I quit, really. You don't have to be sorry," I squint, "And you don't have to say that you love me if you don't want to," I say, huffing and puffing into the ceiling.

"I feel like that's something I should say by my _actions_," Snape snarls.

"Because nothing says I love you quite like shagging a bloke's girlfriend."

Severus stares hard into his pillowcase, as if trying to scrunch it with his eyes. His eyebrows are so close they nearly form one thick black line. He is silent. I was thinking he would defend himself but he just guiltily hugs his arms around his middle and frowns.

"I just don't want you to have to pretend around me anymore," I say, leaning across him to divert his eyes from the ever-fascinating pillow. "I mean… you're right. There's nothing stopping you from turning me into a paperweight and stealing my girlfriend. I mean, Gods!" I throw down my arms into the heaps of sheets. "I don't even know if you're _attracted_ to me. What with your bloody aphrodisiacs…"

"Aphrodisiacs?" Severus asks. "What are you on about?"

I growl at him over the rim of my glasses, "Your alleged _birth control pills_. Did you honestly think I wouldn't figure it out? You poisoned yourself so that you would get hard around me, to egg me on!"

_Birth control pills_, he mouths the words but no sound comes out. He looks quite confused.

I point to his bed stand, on which a heaping stack of pill bottles is piled up.

"Oh!" Severus's eyes light up, "_Oh!_ Birth control pills." He laughs in a sharp _aha_. He rubs his chin with a thumb and forefinger, "Why that's absolutely sinister and evil, James Potter! - _I_ should have thought of that one!"

I wish he would stop demeaning my feelings. It's getting annoying, "You mean you hadn-"

"They're not aphrodisiacs, you silly boy. It's medication."

I fold my arms and stare blankly into his eyes, giving the best impression of my mother's you-are-in-trouble stare. "For what?"

"Birth control."

I roll my eyes, "For _what_?"

"It's not important. Are you going to keep bothering me until I tell you?"

"Erm…" I look mock-pensive, rubbing my chin, "Yes. Obviously."

Severus takes a deep breath, as if trying to siphon away his annoyed expression and replace it with a serious one. "It's lupus medication. I have lupus."

"Lupus?"

"It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?!"

"No, James. It's not."

I feel my face slacken. Something in my gut clenches. How many times have I seen Snape at school, sitting down, walking, and picking up books like a ginger old man? He would frequently rub his knuckles and kneecaps as though sore. His movements were always slow, rickety and smooth… like a twitchy old cat or a spider. It makes so much sense. I just assumed his slow-running and wrist-rubbing was a part of his personality.

"If it's not a big deal then why didn't you just tell me?"

So that's why he never got into sports… it's wasn't because he was a bad flyer (or it wasn't _only_ because he was a bad flyer) but because he couldn't over-exert himself…

"Because if I told you you'd just make that… that… isn't-that-horrible-you-have-a-terminal-illness face. Like the one you're making right now."

I blush, trying to amend the frown that's still lining my face. "I'm sorry… it's just… does it hurt terribly?"

He rubs his hand through his hair and I catch sight of his swollen elbow. "No."

I bite my lip, trying to prevent from shouting out a thousand more annoying questions at Severus. Questions I'm sure he doesn't want to be asked. I didn't know young people could get it. I don't even know that much about the disease, just that it just takes a while to diagnose. I'm bursting with morbid curiosity and unhelpful concern, but at the look on his face, that tired,_ please-don't-pretend-you-care_ look, I stifle those feelings and try to look unimpressed.

His eyes glitter, as if knowing that how worried I am and he assures, "I have plenty of wizarding and muggle drugs to take care of it. Certain ones are used at certain times, like if I have an outbreak. Nothing to worry about."

"Do you get sore after sex?"

The question blurts out of my mouth before I can stop it. Both my mother and Lily pop into my mind at the same time. The first scolds me for asking such a question, the second just smirks, wantonly. It's a sickening combination.

Severus raises his elegant black eyebrow, one eyetooth peeking between his lips when he smiles. "Well… since I've only lost my virginity mere days ago, I have not had the experience to assess such matters."

I grin.

Suddenly he stops grinning. The dense irises in his eyes narrowing in suspicion, "Well? Aren't you surprised?"

"About what?"

"That I was a virgin!" He exclaims. "I'm divulging something truly embarrassing about myself and you act as though you _knew_." Jeez... he acts as if this is a more important revelation than having lupus...

"I did know!" I say defensively, "Didn't you tell me that…" I trail off, realizing as slowly as sand through a sieve, that Severus had never told me he was a virgin. I only knew because he had told Lily in bed "And that's how I always hoped we'd lose our virginity". Bugger. How am I going to get out of this one?

"Noooo," Snape says disparagingly, "I told you I never had a girlfriend. That doesn't mean I've never had sex."

He pouts his lips at my silence, and clutches his middle again. He seems really angry. "You just assumed I was a virgin. Here I thought you would be shocked. Ah, well."

"Well, erm. Congratulations."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I was probably a bumbling idiot at it anyway. I'm not much competition as far as Lily's concerned. I mean. I probably wasn't very good."

"Yes you were!"

Oh, Merlin. Oh, God. I'm so dumb.

His jaw loosens. He looks as though he's seen a walking, talking corpse. "Whaaat?" He caws like a crow. "What do you mean? Did you and Lily compare notes or something?"

"She showed me what happened."

"Showed you?"

"In my father's pensieve."

His face slackens even more. "S-s-s-she s-s-showed-"

"You've got nothing to worry about. I would've given it a O for Oustanding."

He doesn't even grin. He begins to pace the room back and forth. "That was private! I can't believe she would- Did you make her or something?"

"No, she told me that I had to see to 'understand what happened'."

"I can't believe it! I lost my virginity. She has no right to make that into a porn movie!"

"I was jealous," I supply.

"Of me fucking her or of her getting fucked?"

"Erm. Both."

He's too distraught that the woman of his dreams sold him out to notice that I just said I would gladly bottom him. "I can't _believe _she would…" he mutters to himself, pacing and dragging fingernails through his long hair, "I can't _believe_ it!"

I kiss him to shut him up. His back loosens a bit. Our tongues entwine for half a second. "It's ok. I won't tell anybody how awesome you were at your first time."

"Thanks." He sighs into my neck. "At least I'll feel like less of a whore."

"I'm not saying I didn't get off on it."

Severus arches an eyebrow, his fingers find the loops of my trousers, "Oh?"

He pulls me close, until our groins touch the fabric of our pants. "Came in my pants," I admit, turning red despite myself. My cock stirs with interest, both at remembering Severus' hot sweaty body in action and by the close proximity now. Severus rubs himself against me, every inch of our bodies touch. I can feel his nipples peak through his thin work shirt, the warmth pooling at his naval. His fingers begin to wander to my arse.

"I bet you did." He gives the muscles of my backside a good squeeze. "You pervert."

"Mmm… Severus…"

He nips at my neck, giving me tender little love bites. I squirm as his canines dig into my flesh, marking me. "What?" he asks. He licks the bite marks, leaving a wet trail from my collarbone to behind my sensitive ear lobe. His whole body is pressed against me.

"Missed you," I whisper, shivering as his cold hands brush against the small of my back, as he pulls my shirt out of my trousers, undoing my belt. Icy fingers ripple up and down my spine, sending feeble little electric shocks towards my fizzy brain. It's true. I did miss him... and how alive I felt when he touched me... am I perverted?

I play with his tie, tugging it loose and throwing it on the floor. "Nothing like you," I whisper against his lips as out tongues battle for dominance. I'm just as satisfied when his tongue wins, thrusting into my mouth rhythmically. The world around my close eyelids rocks around it's core. My groin swells as he fucks my mouth with his tongue. I give an appreciative little moan. After throwing my tie on the floor, he pulls my shirt above my head, and I get to work on his buttons. They are tiny, difficult to work with, and many, so I'm at first too distracted to see that the Lily on his breast is gone. But when I rip the shirt off his shoulders I palm at the empty space on his chest, fingers spanning where the flower tattoo once was. I let out a disappointed sigh. "You got rid of it…" I mutter, running my pinky nail over his nipple.

He shivers. "Shouldn't you be glad?" He says, voice thick with lust.

"No. It looked good on you…" He had kept some of the vines that circled his arm, but the beautiful flower is gone. Not even singed flesh remains. Just pale, naked skin.

He flitters a soft butterfly kiss on my lips, "It's alright," he says with a smile, "I was getting bored of it, anyway."

"Are there any other important tattoo changes I should know about?"

"Well, you're going to find out soon. Be patient."

I grin as he tugs the belt out of the loops of my trousers, palming my hardness through the fabric. I claw down his back, seeing that the Momentum Mori tattoo hadn't changed.

When he falls to his knees in front of me, kissing his way down my taught, tattoo-less stomach I see that the dragon on his back _has_ changed. It is no longer a winged, fire-breathing dragon but a handsome, swirling Chinese fireball, void of movement, surrounded by swirling cloud. I run my hands along it as he nips at my belly button. It's a beautiful oriental decoration, vividly black on his pale skin. "You're beautiful," I say.

Severus smiles up at me, halfway through sucking at on of my hard abs. He doesn't respond, but silently nibbles at the hem of my trousers, pulling the button open with his teeth. He fumbles with the zipper for a moment and then my pants are crumpled at the floor around my ankles.

His hot breath steams through my briefs, where my manhood is straining to break free. He pulls my pants and socks off and pushes me to take a seat on his comfortable, cover-strewn bed.

Slowly… ever so slowly… he pulls the rim of my underwear down. The elastic band reveals the head of my cock (which is leaking precome already) and then my shaft, and then the base, and then my sac. His eyes darken lustly as he exhales his hot breath on my overheated hardness. He pulls my briefs down my thighs onto the floor and my dick twitches contentedly, "Hmm… Sev."

This is mad. And dirty. And I really shouldn't be doing this. I should go back to Lils. I shouldn't trust him...

But, sitting on the crumpled edge of his bed, I can't gather the emotional or physical strength to tear him away from my body. Even though it's him on his knees, palming his cool hand around my hard cock, I feel like he's the one with all of the control. I'm at the mercy of his every tight, cold finger, of his every glance. My heart tingles gently at his not-so-coy smiles, as if a little man were dusting the very dirty, gritty center of it. He looks at me through long black lashes that are somehow not even a little bit feminine. His chiseled nose and his pasty forehead is making me so hard. It's the same Snape that I tormented. And suddenly with him in control, I feel more free than I ever have. It feels so... right...

Just like what Severus said.

After a hesitant look of trepidation at my cock he licks the head, pulling his rough, cat-like tongue over the slit. He worships it with his eyes, palming the shaft tenderly. "You're _big_…" he whispers, admiring the length with a swipe of his tongue. He's probably never swallowed something so big before.

I hum in thanks. He begins to suck gently on the head. He smoothly rubs me with one hand as his tongue explores other territory. He moistens the soft skin of my sac with his tongue and runs a finger along my perineum. I let out a gasp, fingers clawing into his sheets…

…when voices, one male one female, arise up the stairs.

"SEVERUS!!"

"You don't DESERVE to-"

"It was FAKE wasn't it?"

"You have no right!"

"This is _my_ house too-"

"AND HE IS MY SON!"

_Crack!_

A woman pounds at Severus' door, her shrill voice screaming, "Let me in, now Severus! We have to talk."

His lips, funnily enough, are making a perfect "oh" shape in complete shock. It's the perfect shape for me to shove my penis in his mouth. I restrain myself.

His eyes look up at me in pure horror. "Mum…"

My cock begins to deflate at Severus' mother's shrieking banshee voice; "SEVERUS! Get out here _right now_!"

He stands up, wobbling as the excess blood in he groin fights gravity to reach his brain, and begins to thrust my socks, underwear, pants, shirt, into my hands. "Where's the fucking fire, Mum?" He grips me by the shoulders and steers me toward his darkened closet in the corner of the room.

"Back in the closet?" I whisper with a smirk.

He merely grimaces darkly and pushes my naked bum down to sit on an arrangement of shoes. He shuts the door, bringing my world into blackness. I lean back. His many thick robes tickle the side of my face. Severus really needs a better wardrobe- all he wears is black! One of his coats falls on my head.

"What bloody took so long?!" Severus's mother struts into the room. I push the coat aside. I can only see the hem of her thick wooly skirt that comes passed the knee, and her tucked-in blouse and the top of her black, greasy bun through the cracks in the closet door. I move my head around, trying to catch the rest of her figure as she paces the room. "Get a shirt on! Why are you half naked? And make your bed!"

"Mum! I was napping…"

"Why is your father here?"

"He's asked me-"

"Did you say that he could live here?"

"Yeah, I-"

"Does he think he can just barge in here and take over your life?"

"_I know_ but-"

"So now we're divorced, you never want to see me again, is that it?"

Severus holds in a breath, trying to calm himself, "NO! I-"

My mouth drops. They say all this within five seconds. They sound like a pair of twittering birds. Or at least Mrs. Snape sounds like a bird. Snape hasn't really gotten a word in…

"_I _raised you. You're _my_ son! Tobias was never ever there for you and you know it. How could you just let him into your life like that? I'm your _mother_! I've looked after you your whole life and all I get is shit! And if you let your father live here I swear I'm never speaking to you again!"

Severus, who I can see just barely through the cracks, slowly sits on his messy bed, heaving out a breath as if he was the one who was just yelling his lungs out. He points his finger about to say something when she cuts him short again… I sigh and start to attempt to find my underwear in my bundle of clothes.

"And don't tell me you're just trying to keep the family together. You should have known that we were going to get separated. You're the only reason we stayed together!"

_That's a horrible thing to say_… I tell myself firmly.

"We've been on the rocks since you left Hogwarts, and you _knew_ that. So don't act so surprised. I _might_ have told him that I was cheating on him and I wasn't. I might have faked it! ALRIGHT? YOU GOT ME. But I don't bloody-well care. If that's what it takes to get your father off my back than so be it! And you let him in here as though he's the _poor victim_. As though I didn't have to deal with his abuse for twenty years. And YOU DID TOO. Don't pretend like you didn't. So what if he's cleaned up his act? So what if he hasn't had a drop of alcohol in ten years? He's the same bloody bastard that used to hit you- and me- you shouldn't take pity on him!"

I swallow, trying to take in at least some of this coming-at-me-too-fast information as I pull on my socks. So Tobias drank a lot, huh? He was a mean drunk. He didn't seem like the type of guy who would hit his wife or son. Or at least he doesn't now. Perhaps he roughhoused them a bit… tried to get his son to fight back…

Severus exhales again, gathering up his courage as if he were twelve again and not twenty-two. "Mum," Severus says slowly, childishly, "have you taken that anti-menopause-symptoms potion I gave you?"

I snort, pulling my underwear up my thighs.

"THAT'S NOT FUNNY!"

"I wasn't laughing!"

"I HEARD YOU SNIGGER!"

I stifle myself, jaw cracking as I stuff my fist in my mouth.

"YOU THINK MY ANXIETY ATTACKS ARE A JOKE?!"

"NO!" Severus bursts, standing up. "Mum! _Breathe_ for God's sake. You're hysterical."

"I'M NOT HYSTERICAL! YOU ARE TAKING YOUR FATHER'S SIDE!"

My ribs hurt as I try to stop myself from laughing.

"Mum, _please_," Severus begs. "Just calm down…"

"I AM CALM. YOU HATE ME. YOU'RE TAKING YOUR FATHER'S SIDE AND YOUR ANGRY AT ME FOR RUINING THE FAMILY."

Severus retreats to his bedside table. I hear the rattling of pills as he paws through his pile. I, awkwardly, pull my pants up and fasten them, trying not to kick the door or knee anything out of place. Mrs. Snape continues to banter until he hands her a blue phial.

"I AM NOT A BAD MOTHER! I DID ALL I COU-"

"Drink that," Severus says, handing his mum the phial.

"WHAT is it?"

"Calming draught."

She drinks the content in one swig. "AND YOUR FA-ther… you…" She looks dazed. I finally catch a glimpse of her face (pointed hawk's nose and dark hooded eyes) as it turns from angry and squished to mildly euphoric. "Wow that one was good," she says.

"I would hardly call it 'good', Mother," he says in good humor.

She sways a bit, with a calm smile spread across her face. "I really got going." She settles herself on the bed, folding her legs neatly. Her posture has changed from tight and straight-laced, to lose and helter-skleter.

"You scare me sometimes, Mum," Severus whispers, passing his fingers through her black hair, which is lined with white streaks. He looks down at her, fondly.

I toss my shirt on, only to realize that it's inside-out. Hastily I try to flip it. Wait- where's my tie?

I see the door crack open, where Mr. Snape is peeking his head around the corner. "Is it over?" He asks this like he is a survivor of a hurricane.

Mrs. Snape points at him without looking at him, "Just because I'm calm now doesn't mean that I won't kick you in the nuts given the opportunity."

Tobias takes that as an invitation to enter the room, albeit he stays about five feet away from Eileen, eyeing her wearily. He spots my tie, which is laying peacefully on the floor, and points at it, "Where's James?"

Severus's eyes widen. I gulp.

"James who?" Eileen asks, wiping her brow.

"On'tday Aysay Amesjay," says Snape.

"What's that?" Tobias asks, "I'm no good at pig latin."

"Never-bloody-mind."

"Where'd he go?"

"He flooed home."

"No he didn't. He would have been downstairs…"

"Well then he must've went out the front door.'

"Then I would have seen…"

"Then he _apparated_."

"Wouldn't he have made a noise?"

"Dad! SHUT UP!"

Eileen looks in between them, glancing back and forth as though this was a thoroughly entertaining sitcom.

There's nothing to be had. I leap out of the closet, as though that's what I had intended to do all along, throwing up my hands.

"BOO!"

The Snapes leap four feet in the air, save for Eileen, who is wearing a five-year-old smile. Tobias's face is as white as a ghost. Severus looks horrified.

I continue to wear my shit-eating grin, "Did I scare you?"

Eileen laughs and claps her hands, swinging side to side in unsteady euphoria. Tobias clutches his heart and gives me a smirking, scolding look, "That was quite a prank!" Severus glowers at me, one eyebrow raised, doing a fine impression of McGonnagal after one of the Marauders' glorious pranks.

Ever the extrovert, I protrude a hand for Mrs. Snape to shake, "I'm James Potter. How are you?" I say politely.

"Oh! Mary's son?" She shakes my hand with a limp wrist, "How is she? I'm Eileen Prince. My son has no manners."

"I see that," I smile. Severus's expression doesn't waver.

"It's Eileen _Snape _until I sign the paperwork," Tobias says disparagingly. "Stop that."

"And you'll sign it or I'll have your head on a silver platter by next week," Mrs. Snape says out of the corner of her mouth. She then turns to me, waving off her husband. "This is my husband Tobias."

I nod at him to indicate we've met.

She smiles, her wrist flicking and then landing back on her lap, "He beat me."

My eyes widen.

Tobias turns bright red, mouth agape in shock. He sputters, "What? What are you-?" It can't be true… could it? Eileen would never come out and say it if she was a victim of abuse… but Tobias sure looks embarrassed. "IT WAS ONE TIME! I had too many drinks! You _hexed me back_!"

My jaw is unhinged.

"He's an alcoholic," her smile only widens.

I don't know what I can possibly say to that.

Tobias rolls his eyes heavenward, muttering under his breath, "I gave up gin for this woman." He gestures toward her, eyeing me warily. "Haven't had a drop since Severus went to school."

"He's treated me like shit for twenty years."

"Eh? And you didn't?"

"We're getting a divorce," she says.

I nod, wide-eyed.

Severus has his face in his hands, long hair billowing between his fingers. He's swaying back and forth as though going mad. I gape at him. I try to hide the pity in my gaze but I can't.

"We hate each other," Eileen says.

"And why are you pointing out the obvious?" Tobias asks.

I feel myself shrinking uncomfortably as they glare at one another, feeling suddenly like a very small child. Fearful. In wonderment. By Severus's posture, it would seem that he feels the same way, until he stands up, clicks his heel together and lifts his chin. He barks, "OUT!"

His parents merely stare.

He straightens his back as far as he can, and points toward the door. He looks tall. Like a parent... "OUT! _BOTH_ of you! GET OUT. NOW!"

Tobias begins to argue, "Now you can't just-"

"I'M RENTING THE HOUSE OUT! IT'S MINE! I WANT YOU BOTH OUT!"

Eileen lets out a "hmph" and Tobias shakes his head. Mrs. Snape makes to stand and wobbles dangerously. Mr. Snape is by her side instantly, one hand on her hip, the other in hers. "Don't let her apparate, Dad," Severus odders, "She'll splinch herself. I put too much dragonwood in the calming draught."

"Right," Tobias grumbles.

"Don't touch me," growls Eileen.

"It hurts me more than it hurts you," Tobias retaliates.

He steers her out of the door, doing a strange sort-of dance so that he doesn't bump her into the wall. Eileen growls into his ear, just loud enough for me to catch, "If you push me down the stairs, I'll come back and haunt you."

"So would I," Tobias whispers back vehemently.

When their bickering finally retreats down the steps, I sheepishly grin at Severus, who grimaces back. He paces the room and tosses his shirt on over his shoulders. His parents didn't even notice the new tattoo, or the lack of the old one. I gingerly attempt to lay a hand on his covered shoulder as he is bent over to retrieve my tie. "Severus…" It's hard to tell whether he's blushing from embarrassment or from the exertion of bending over. He doesn't push my hand off, but kindly pats the back of my hand twice as if to say, "it's ok, you can let go." He loops his tie underneath his collar and hands me mine.

"I've got to go do some brewing," He says softly, knotting the tie underneath his chin. "Potions, you know."

"Right," I heave a great sigh. "I'd better go, I guess."

He leaves a soft, quiet, little, unobtrusive kiss on my lips. The kind of kiss that only lovers do when they have to say goodnight. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"Huh?" he asks, looking happy and windswept.

"About your parents' divorce," I whisper, clutching his elbow and giving it a soft squeeze, trying to say with my eyes, _I'm always here, you know_.

"Nah," he says, too quickly, "I'm fine."

"Right." I fondle my wand through my pocket, "Mind if I apparate from here?"

He shakes his head. He stares at the floor in a defeated air.

"But before I go… There is a galla. This Friday. I want you to come with me," I rustle his shirt into place. "I told Lily that after seeing that memory we should spend some time apart… and I can't very well go alone."

Severus folds his arms. His jaw slackens. "And if I go with you…" He muses, "What am I to introduce myself as? Your boyfriend? Your sex toy? Your double-crossing lover? Someone who is sleeping with both fiancés at the same time?"

"You don't have to say we're anything. We could just go as friends, I don't care. Just as long as I don't have to suffer through one of Muriel's stories alone."

"Why not ask Sirius then?"

I sniff, "I don't _want_ Sirius. I want you. And the last time he went to one of these things he stuffed cheesecake down his trousers."

Severus's lips crack for a moment, and then return to their steely frown. "What about your parents?"

"Severus I want –_you- _to be there. My parents will be there but…" I take the opportunity to kiss him. His cool lips and five o'clock shadow skate over my mouth. Nibbling his lip tenderly, I ask, "Please?"

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"Suppose so. Meet me at my parent's house? At five-o'clock?"

"Where is this bloody thing anyway?"

"Forlong square. In Godric's Hollow. Right down the road from my house."

"Fine."

"Does 'fine' mean you'll do it?"

"Alright. Don't know what I'll wear but _fine_."

I kiss him again, rubbing my nose against his overlarge one. "You make me very happy."

"Dunno why."

My final kiss of the day is long and languid, soft and smooth. I clutch his neck and he nips my bottom lip. "Bye, Sev," I whisper, and I'm gone with a _pop_!

* * *

I stare at the place where James just was, scratching my arm in a melancholy way, wondering if he realizes that I'd gladly go to this stupid thing on Friday, and that, in fact, I'm really happy he asked. I feel buoyed after my parents had just embarrassed themselves, each other, and me in front of my boyfriend. Thankfully, James takes everything in stride. I know he's far more worried about the whole "hitting" thing than he lets on. He's kind and polite and he hides it. But predictably I can picture him now, going to both his elderly parents and asking them about family abuse. Perhaps they'd discuss the matter over tea and crumpets while Mrs. Potter plays with his hair and Mr. Potter talks about a few years back, and a family he used to know…

The brat.

Feeling suddenly lonely at the prospect of an empty house, I thud down the stairs, the hard soles of my feet hitting the cold wood. When I land on the bottom stare, I catch a glimpse of two figures lying on the couch, snuggled together, humming as they kiss…

"MUM! DAD! DEAR GOD! THAT'S DISGUSTING!"

I leap back up the stairs two at a time.


	11. Chapter 11: Godric Hollow's Galla

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT. **

_Please don't read unless you are allowed to read "Mature" fiction._

No, I really mean it this time.

Oh, look! It's a DOUBLE CHAPTER! I actually wanted it to be all one chapter, or at least I wanted it to be read all at once… so that's why I waited to submit the first half. It really is (in my mind) one BIG chapter. Enjoy!

A major thanks to TheOriginalSheElf for being a great beta!

Thanks very much to Sasa and SilverWing129 for the lovely comments! Hope the update was quick enough for you!

Frayed Soul- Lawl! Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked Severus's mom. Writing her was so much fun, and so I hoped it was as much fun to read. I hope you enjoy this next chapter even though it's not as funny.

Thomas Hobbs- Yeah… the apple doesn't fall far from the toxic waste zone…

RoseNarc- Aw, thanks! Glad to have made your day/week/month! Yeah we have quite a few problems to get over. Remus/Sirius, a war, marriage, a baby and a dark overlord… I'm frankly swamped. Thanks for the review!

Noah-body- Sweeney/Judge Turpin equals Sev/James. Totally.

This is the disclaimer that I should be putting up every chapter. I don't own James or Severus or Harry. This is a non-profit production.

* * *

My hand-me-down dress robes are frayed at the cuffs. The more I pull at the strings, the more they become unraveled. It's my grandfather's robes. Tobias had found them in the attic in a trunk with the Slytherin mark on the clasp. The suit is dusty, and smells of peppermint and crisp flakes of dead skin, but at least the thing fits me. Nothing would compare to a new set of green satin or purple velvet robes- the latest rage- though I have always been at least ten years behind in fashion. And anyways, I like these robes… they're black. It's positively Victorian; the cuffs have thick, tarnished silver cufflinks the size of walnuts. Black buttons trail up the sides of the sleeves, with a small opening at the elbow where the puffy cotton shirt underneath pokes through. A neck-tie and a small black tie tack in the middle of the knot, wrap around the thick starchy collar. It's not modern, but it fits me in a comfortable way, like a leather glove that you put away for the winter and then slip on again with ease. My grandfather had good taste, and though it doesn't really belong in this century I feel sort of bad-ass and Goth sporting it. I withhold my smirk as I look over myself in the rusty, tarnished Slytherin mirror in the attic. They come with high-top black leather boots, too. I dig through the trunk to find them.

Letters, lots of them, are in packages tied together by brown tweed string. They are in clumps, I realize, each carrying a pack of letters from one girl. They're love-letters. I can tell because of the incredibly tidy scrawl and the perfume that wafts up from them, even after all these years. Apparently my grandfather was indeed the tramp he was always rumored to be. People said that he seduced young girls (barely out of Hogwarts), broke their hearts and then left them high and dry. There were rumors that he had even gotten one of them pregnant, a young tart, and- this is truly terrible, either because it's a lie or because it's true- his wife pretended that she was pregnant for eight months so when the girl gave birth, they took the baby. That girl had been muggle.

Eileen never was truly sure if she was a half-blood or a pureblood. No wonder Mr. Prince didn't keep this trunk in _his_ household. His wife would have a fit to see how many girls this satyr seduced!

Curiosity getting the better of me, I thumb through some of the packages, catching glimpses of familiar names: Sandra Bones, Augusta Longbottom, Lucretia Prewett, Walburga Black (_Sirius's mother? _I think wryly_, How could you sink so low, Grandfather?)_, Mary Potter…

_What? That can't be right._

I rip my hands into the neatly bundled letters, loosening the thick brown tie with my teeth. Fingers shaking I hastily peel back the already-broken seal and lift the thick yellow parchment, gingerly placing it in front of my eyes.

_My detestable, forlorn, pathetic Mr. Prince,_ she addresses.

Apparently this letter was at the end of their engagement- the parchment is neither scented nor nicely handwritten (in fact the scrawl is hasty, untidy and downright boyish, sort-of similar to my own). The packet itself is very thin compared to that of the others, which either indicates that their engagement was very short, or that it was very long and very sexual and there was hardly a need for words…

_You are the most prideful arrogant fool that I have ever met, and yes, that includes 've spent your life duping young women into sex and pleasures and then leaving them to deal with pregnancies, diseases and embarrassment, and you spit fire if a woman ever dreamed of declining your advances- I will not be your secret midnight whore, chasing your every whim for a scrap of affection._

Wow, she has guts- Prince was a very important person who could have thrown her into an insane asylum for no reason as soon as you could say, "sexist pig".

_You may, because I know of your ever-soaring and insecure self-esteem…_

My regard for this woman swells with every word.

…_conclude that this is because I do not care for you. You would be infinitely wrong. I do care for you. You would be an imbecile to think otherwise. I love you, and that is much more that I can say than the other little tarts that cling to you from their drugged-like infatuation. It is entirely of the reason that I love you that I must beckon you to leave me be. You will be angry with me for a long time, you might even hate me. I'm entitling you to hold one of the Prince's very long-standing, nearly permanent grudges on me. That's fine. Hate me if you like, but never say that I don't love you_.

My eyebrows skyrocket to the top of my forehead- apparently this was a bit more than a fling. I wonder if William ever knew. Mary Potter… it's not her maiden name… that must mean she had already married him.

_You are a lonely old man, Mr. Prince. You spend your time chasing girls and reading books and pretending that you are young. But you can't keep this flirtatious game up when your in one of your own mental wards at ninety-three. When I first met you, I found your mature-and-yet-youthful air charming. But you shouldn't pretend to be something you're not- you _**are **_a handsome, aging, married man falling towards his eventual death with grace and dignity_. _You are _**not**_ a bachelor in his twenties. You are a kind gentleman. You are not a noble entitled to treating others as if they are beneath you (that includes your house elves, your servants and your wife)._

_I think perhaps that it is your own mortal fear of your age that keeps you running after these young women. And if that is true then it is a very foolish fear indeed. When you see yourself in the mirror you should not quiver at your wrinkles and gasp at your ever-whitening hair. You should see a handsome, beautiful man who is aging into adulthood like fine wine._

The way she says this makes one of the last pureblood noblemen in the wizarding world sound very pathetic. His suit weighs into my skin. I feel like I've aged twenty years, crouching on the floor of my muggle father's house. My heart quivers as if it were Mr. Prince's.

_You are also kind and vulnerable, despite your sarcastic attempts to make yourself seem aloof and unreachable, harsh and unsympathetic, cool and composed. You care about other people, about your wife even, more than you would ever like them to know. It unsettles you. Though your__ occlumency skills and defense mechanisms attempt to shield you from harm, that heart that beats in your bosom is as ginger and fragile as a five-year-old's._

_And I love that heart. I wish you would not shield it so thoroughly from view. I feel like I am the only one in years to get a glimpse of that kindness, and it is a true shame. I wish for you to share it with whomever you feel worthy._

The ink is blotchy in this area of the page, wet droplets dot the next paragraph. Tear stains? I hardly think Mary Potter had cried while writing it. I can imagine him now, my grandfather, crying over this little sheet of paper, maybe in the same suit that I wear now…

_But I am not that person. I love you more than I could say, but I am not meant to be your l-ver o-your wife._

Spots smear some of the letters. It's difficult to make out-

_Hate me because I am selfish. I love W—liam. He's my s—lmate. He's the other half I ne—r knew I was m-ssing. We're mar-ied and I can'- wa-t to have his ch—dren. We'-e going to h—e a family. We're already so happy together, difficult though you may find that to understand._

She broke his damned old heart. I feel it cracking in my own chest.

_My wish is that you will someday find the sort of happiness that I have found with William. But until then I cannot sympathize an old, kind man who is looking everywhere in the world for affection except for in his own home. You must learn to love yourself first before I can ever begin to become close to you._

_Your despised friend,_

_Mary Potter_

_P.S. Please don't come to my house again._

I let out a breath that I'd been holding.

My first thought is of Lily…

This could be then same letter, but with different addresses. The letters switch to more recent ones in front of my eyes: _To my most pathetic and detestable Mr. Snape_, _Your once-best Friend, Lily Potter. I love J-mes. He's the other half I ne—r knew I was m-ssing. _I stop myself before I crumple the decades old parchment in my fist. I set it gingerly back into the fold of the envelope and lay it in the trunk.

I am that man. The heartache is as much mine as his. I have his low self-confidence and his five-year-old heart. He believes that only one person in the world could ever thaw the icy castle surrounding his ginger, protected heart… and that one person is so far out of reach…

My heartbeat struggles to become regular again. It thumps beneath my grandfather's suit that I wish didn't fit me so well.

It feels like the letter _had_ been addressed to me. That all of the words unsaid between me and Lily have already been stated by Mary Potter. We are over. I should've known this from the moment she left me naked in my apartment. I feel like I'm giving up on the girl of my dreams. Lily hasn't talked to me since James' and my fight in that alley outside of the Warehouse. And now seeing her analogous perspective in a different time, a different place, makes me realize why. She doesn't love me. She couldn't love a person who can't love himself. She finds me pathetic and forlorn. It's all here, on paper, in this trunk. Her and James are going to ride off in the sunset and…

But there is a difference in our stories:

James.

He's my lover. My heart swells in an odd triumph. Somebody loves me. James loves me. And I love him too. See, Lily Evans? I can love and be loved. It's well within my power. I'm not nearly as pathetic as you think.

I smile as my thoughts wander to James, his goofy grin popping into my mind. It makes me feel warm and tingly when I think of him, where thinking of Lily makes me feel cold and damp like a cat left out in the rain. I don't understand it, this strange and opposite way to love a person. I suddenly feel the need to see his face again. What am I doing in this attic anyway? Pulling on the shoes, I close the trunk with a _snap_, catching a final glimpse of myself in the rusty silver mirror.

A small portrait labeled Edward Prince III hangs on the wall behind it. My grandfather is depicted in his early twenties. He looks like my twin, wearing the same clothes, the same nose and eyebrows, the same boots, the same pallid visage… he opens his mouth to say something to me…

I apparate.

* * *

James' front door is a welcome sight. I thump my knuckles against thick, white-washed wood, and realize too late that it's only 4:30. I'm a half an hour early. Oh well. He can suffer through my company for an extra half hour. I stuff my hands in the silk-lined pockets, growing hot in the retreating sun.

James opens the door, squinting into space with a confused expression.

He looks remarkably handsome. An oxford collar lines his thick neck, his polo shirt taught and thin around his square muscular shoulders. A plaid sweater-vest tugs around his midsection, hiding the tight abs underneath. The thin, ironed, almost white khaki pants ride high on his hips, one of the tails of his polo spills over the brown belt around his middle, not tucked in. His eyes and hair reflect a different shade of brown in the lazy sunset, a sort of golden auburn but mixed in with the colors of honey, rust, sand and twilit. It takes me a moment to realize that the reason his boyish face seems a bit rounder and more handsome is because the black glasses on his nose are conspicuously missing.

"Oh bugger." He mumbles.

I'm so wrapped up in his handsome appearance that I almost don't catch this expression of dislike. A small grin tugs his lips, squaring the muscles in his jaw so that he looks like the muggle Superman. His masculinity is bowling me over. "Nice to see you too," I say, my figurative tail between my legs. I'll probably look like a freak next to him.

"No, it's just…" his grin widens and he tries to wipe it off with two fingers, "I forgot to tell you that it was a muggle party."

Well, that would be an essential bit of information. Looking down at my black robes and boots, I feel immensely foolish and regret ever putting them on, ever coming to know about Mr. Prince and Mary. "I'll go back and change, then."

"No, wait," His wide, sweaty palm grasps my arm as I retreat. His eyes graze over my robes, taking in every gothic detail. I blush, feeling embarrassed at the puffy shirt sticking out of my sleeve. "You look…" he says, voice as hot as the air around us, "good." His newly colorful eyes pour up and down my outfit. Suddenly I feel like I'm not wearing anything at all.

He pulls me inside. As my eyes adjust to the dark hall, I feel a slobbery kiss on my bottom lip. James has me lined up against the inside of the door, sending dribbles of kisses down my jaw. "James…" I blush crimson, "get a hold of yourself, you bloody animal."

"Can't help it," he keens around my earlobe, "too sexy for your own good."

Doesn't he understand that _he's_ the sexy one? I push him, softly, off me, smoothing my wet mouth with my knuckles, mind going abruptly to, _what if his mother saw us here?_ Somehow I think she would be accepting…

He clutches my cool hand in his warm one. I raise my eyebrows, and smirk.

"You've got plenty of time to change anyway."

I don't know why he feels the need to conspiratorially whisper his hot breath in my ear, even though this information is hardly secret. He begins to tug me in the direction of the lightened kitchen, the smell of rhubarb pie wafting into my nostrils. "I thought the party is at five o'clock…" I whisper back.

"It is," says James, "but it's Potter legacy to arrive fashionably late. No time sooner than seven would do."

"Ah. So now I'm two and a half hours early. Brilliant."

At this he turns, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger, "Surely there's something we can do to pass the time."

My face feels a hundred degrees hotter as he lets go of my hair and pokes his head into the kitchen.

"Need our help, mum?"

She doesn't answer. The noise of the kitchen, pots and pans clanging as they clean themselves in the sink, the mechanical noise of the fan in the corner of the room, the gibbering of a house elf, and the soft _whuuurr_ of a muggle egg-beater swirling in a bowl by itself drown out his voice. She is carrying a glass bowl of freshly chopped strawberries, waltzing towards us. She looks down into her work, pleased, and suddenly sees me in my grandfather's robes and drops it.

Her dark eyes open up like the iris of a lens. The contents of the bowl splatter across the floor, across her ankles. Red juice sprays into the air, too bright to be blood. The glass cracks in half. That second lasts for an eternity; I can see the mistake in her eyes. I stand here before her like a ghost of her past, and she feels the sudden rush of inertia… as if time had stopped and her son, and William had passed her in history and she is but a girl and I am standing here, the devil, Mr. Prince. The moment passes when she emits a little, "Oh!" realizing it's just me, just Severus. She shudders out a little laugh, "You frightened me, dear."

She bends over, taking the towel from her shoulder and begins to sop up the mess, but her son is there within two seconds, wand out, insisting quietly that she not bend over with that bad hip. His khaki pants press to the floor as he kneels down to scourgify the remains.

"Mr. Potter," I say and nod to the bearded man who is sitting in the corner of the kitchen, cutting strawberries and cleaning blackberries. "Mrs. Potter," I nod to the woman who is gingerly picking herself upright. That comment my mum had made about my manners had left somewhat of a scar on my ego. I'm trying to be as polite as possible.

Suddenly, Mary Potter's ragged face breaks into a smile and she gives me a limp-wrist hug, patting me twice on the shoulder. "Severus," she grins, "no need to be so formal." She eyes my attire, "Look at you, dressed to the nines." Begging me to give an explanation with her eyes, she clutches my arm a bit too tight.

"Found it in the attic," I mutter, feigning innocence, but silently scolding myself for my insensitivity. I should have changed…

"Oh," she says, "It must've been your grandfather's." She fingers the cuffs and the sleeve somewhat lovingly. "I recognized it, you see."

We're skating on slim ice.

Potter and his father are across the room, slicing strawberries and berries and eating every third or fourth. They both look as giddy as schoolboys, popping berries in their mouths, staining their fingertips with red and blue… while Mary Potter is speaking in loud tones about her adultery and young infatuation.

"Did you?"

"You look so much like him," she says with a womanly sigh. "You don't speak with your grandfather, do you?" It was a statement more than a question. "Eileen estranged him before you were born."

I nod, not really sure what she is getting at.

"Shame," she whispers.

I defensively bite my lip, "It's not like I don't want to talk to him; _he _doesn't want to speak to _me_. The first time I spoke to him I was five and he boxed my ears."

Her wrinkled lips press together tightly, and she smoothes the edge of the velvet sleeve. "He's a harsh, unforgiving man. He throws daggers at whoever wants to be too emotionally close to him. But underneath he is actually sweet and tender. He just can't handle heartache." Her single white eyebrow raises and she glances at her son, whose rosy lips are wrapped around a strawberry, eyes glittering in the direction of the window, and then at me, who, blushing, notices the pointed accusation in her stare. "Not unlike someone we both know."

I feel like I should apologize to her, though what for and how I don't know.

I glance at James again, as his father slaps his wrist when his hand tries to wander into the bowl again. He grins sheepishly and winks at me.

She grips my arm, the sudden squeeze as hard and as wincing as that muggle contraption that doctors use to check your blood pressure. She pulls me down to her height. "You love him… don't you?" she whispers her old breath in my ear.

My heart squeezes so painfully that my eyes tear of their own accord. Very slightly, I nod. Her grip loosens as if the contraption were letting out steam. When she backs away from my ear, I see that the bottom eyelids of her mascara-covered eyes have become dripping. She grins, and the wrinkles around her mouth become smooth in the action. She pats my cheek. Grabbing a straying strand of black hair with two fingers, she pulls it behind my ear fondly. It's such a motherly motion that no one has done to me in a long time.

"Thought so. You two will be good for each other," she whispers, playing with my hair still. Not for the first time, I wonder what I've done to gain her blatant approval…

"Mum…" James says, mouth covered in red juice, "you don't seem to need us, so can we go upstairs? Please?" She grips my wrist tightly for a moment, and then nods to her son. She grabs a napkin.

"Get over here first," Mrs. Potter wipes his son's juicy chin.

"Aw, mum," James blushes like a ten-year-old as she licks the napkin and tenderly dabs the corner of his mouth. "Stop it." Perhaps he had been planning for me to lick it off.

She leaves a kiss on James's cheek, where a big red lipstick smudge remains. He rubs it off with the back of his hand and skips toward the door, clutching my hand. He's such a _boy_.

* * *

My heart races. I bound through the door.

I've got Severus here. In my room. For two hours.

I'm hard already.

You don't understand, though. I've spent the past three days wanking. In the shower. In my bed at the middle of the night. On the toilet. At my desk. Envisioning his pale body over me, his lips devouring mine. He drives me crazy. The blood in my system immediately went to my groin the moment he walked through my door.

About two days ago, when I could deny my attraction no longer, I decided against my better judgment to journey down to an adult bookstore in Knockturn Alley (by the dubious name of Which Wand), and to read up on the subject that I knew so little about. I've spent my teenage years sticking my fingers in my ears whenever somebody but mentioned sex with another wizard. When it comes to the mechanics, I remained woefully ignorant.

Well. No longer. Blushing like a tomato, I stuffed my arms with Karma Sutra for the Gay Male, How to Wax Your Partner's Wand: A Guide for Wonky Wizards, and a copy of a lewd magazine called Lucky Warlocks. On the cover of Lucky Warlocks was a very tattooed man that had Snape's hair and a wanton expression lying in the grass. Horrified by the idea of purchasing only these items, I added to my pile Transfiguration Today and a book of Dark but Not Dangerous Magic (which looked dangerous, a upside-down pentagram decorated the cover), and… after some consideration, a Charm book that included a section on sexual spells. So, at least when checking out I appeared as a smart, well-educated horny homosexual, rather than just a horny homosexual.

I brought them home in a paper bag, and when Dad asked me what it was I just said, "Light reading." I cursed the drawer of my desk so that only I can open it and everybody else would suddenly remember a dentist appointment and run out the door.

Hence, more wanking. And more well-educated wanking. I now have some idea of how it all works, positions, frotting, blowjobs, and the like… but I have a feeling that reading up on it will hardly make a difference… I'm still probably going to be a bumbling idiot…

I mean… I don't even know if I prefer bottom or top! I, tentatively, hypothetically, asked Sirius about it… I mean… which one _he_ was, and he told me, unabashedly, "Oh, I'm a bottom. Why do you ask?"

Trying not to get caught with my real intentions, I asked, "Well, what made you so sure?" He blushed. I blushed. It was very awkward.

"Well, you know… I just… liked being touched there," he said.

"Where?" I had asked, befuddled.

"You know," he ran his fingers through his smooth hair. "Just, don't make me say it, you pounce."

We then moved to different topics of conversation, Sirius talking at length about Remus and his hair. Yuck.

Later in my room by myself, I figured out what the hullabaloo was about. _There_. Lifting my knee to the corner of my desk after one very long, hot shower, I touched myself there. I felt the breath leave my lungs. Stoking myself with one hand, the nail of one finger skated over that tight, sacred ring of muscle, I gasped, my lips hanging open. Never had I ever touched myself in such a strange and awkward spot. It felt so indecent. So good.

In my head I knew that nobody should touch a man there, but when I imagined Severus's finger there instead of my own, padding at my opening, I came with a muffled cry, spilling on my chest.

James Potter touched himself _there_. And he imagined Severus Snape doing it.

And he _came_.

What is the world coming to these days? In any case. I still really don't know if that makes me a "bottom" or not. Surely I'll find out.

And now Severus is standing in front of me in a made-by-the-devil-God-of-sex outfit with a smirk on his face and I'm about to burst with sexual energy streaming out of my pores.

"You should probably take those clothes off," I suggest, trying to stay cool and coy.

"Probably," he seems a little too pensive right now. Severus, honestly. Less thinking, more sex. He gives a sheepish grin and begins to unbutton the mammoth clasps.

I feel myself sit on the bed, readying myself. I'm more excited than ever just by the sight of his pale neck emerging from the high collar. That translucent bit of skin is so erotic.

"Mind averting your gaze, Prince Potter?" Severus mutters, while unbuttoning the next clasp. The edge of his collarbone pokes over the drooping collar.

I wriggle to the edge of my seat, "No, I'd rather not."

He finally notices the bulge straining out of my trousers. He raises one black, snarky (gods he's so sexy) eyebrow. "Want a lap dance too?" his low sardonic voice reveals the faintest hint of annoyance.

Uh-oh, he sounds angry. "Whatever you're in the mood for." I palm myself through the light fabric at my crotch.

He rolls his eyes and grins, as though he thought I was the funniest thing in the world but wants to hide it. The next button pops loose. His bare breast seems to glow like an opal, one side of his robe falling down his shoulder. A dark nipple is rubbing against the edge of his robe. He stands before me, the thick black cloth hanging off of his body, chest pale as moonlight. I lick my lips. My mirror in the corner of the room reflects his back, his long slender neck and the smooth black hair skating over it. He looks like a creature of the night, a geisha, a harlot… it hurts to breath.

His cool, thin fingers grip the fabric of my pants, nails diving into my kneecap. I jump. His other palm smoothes over the top of my thigh, maintaining a respectable distance from my groin, but the blood still flows there, chilled by his cold hands. He lowers his head, pieces of hair flittering over his face.

He kisses me, tenderly at first. His tongue dabs at my lips, gaining entry, and diving into my mouth, tasting like chocolate and mint. He bites my bottom lip. When I moan, his tongue thrusts further into the back of my mouth. His canine dives into my tender flesh, leaving a mark but not making it bleed. He drives me crazy.

A strange wave of inertia rocks my center and even though I can't see my surroundings I can feel myself falling backward. I hit the mattress. My legs widen of their own accord. His hot, hot, silky tongue flitters against mine. I chance a glance up at him as he draws for breath. He's bent nearly double, hands digging into the mattress to stay upright. "Severus…" I whisper, barely a breath.

His cold fingers sting on my neck, just below my jawbone. He could choke me, but the motion of his fingers feels so gentle. He licks the hollow, indented skin where my bottom lip becomes chin, no doubt tasting aftershave and slight stubble. My mouth opens wide, wishing silently for his lips to return to mine. He bites my jaw. With a sudden daring, I jerk my hips upwards, nearly a meter off of the bed. I find the warmth at his hips, rubbing myself at that mysterious pulsating something between his lean legs.

He gasps. His hips thrust downward and pin me to the bed. He sends shivers of thrusts that make my hips sink into the mattress. I cannot move. When his tongue finally meets mine again I let out a moan of contentment. A stray strand of spittle strings between out tongues. The very tip of his tongue flutters against the tip of mine. He holds down my chin, the tease.

I rub against him more firmly, pants becoming tight. Our lips mesh together again tongues dueling against each other.

His little thrusts push me deeper and deeper into the mattress, until he says, "Fuckin'… take that off…" He yanks my well-pressed shirt out of my trousers and unbuckles my belt. "Mm… all of that."

Obediently I pull my shirt off, hastily popping a button across the room as I do so. His cold palm touches my penis through my pants. I let out a moan.

"Shh…" he says, one finger on my lip, pulling his wand out of his sleeve and casting a quick Silencio on the doors and walls and floors. "Quiet down, you don't want your parents to walk in on us?"

"Lock the door too," I say as for good measure. "Please."

The Slytherin's snarky grin widens at my quiet plea. "So polite," he says, but he does it all the same.

I lick my lips. His hot tongue dabs in a circle around my tightening nipple. He bites me. "Harder…" I whisper, face burning because that is such a _girly_ thing to say.

His knees hit the carpet with a dull thud. I pull my zipper down with haste as he gingerly unbuttons the clasp. His big, beaky nose is at my crotch, sniffing with gulping breaths the stench of my manhood through my underwear. My blood turns to mercury.

"Shall we resume where we left off?"

I give a shameful smile as he strips me of my socks and pants and underwear. I stretch back across the bed, stuffing my face into the crook of my arm.

"Gods, you're gorgeous," he whispers against the head of my penis.

_Gorgeous_ makes me feel like one of those blond movie stars or witches preparing for a ball. It makes me think of too much makeup and frilly dresses. Suddenly I feel so pouncy. "No I'm not," I blush to my ears.

He licks me, from base to tip. I suck air through my teeth.

Severus' eyelids flutter open, "Mmm…" he licks, "but you are. You're bloody… fucking… beautiful."

With that, he twitches my left nipple with one hand. I feel so naked.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?"

The question came bursting out of my lips. What timing, James, honestly…

Snape's deep black eyes grow wide, looking mildly concerned. "What about?"

What a time for this! Honestly, James, can't you wait a few more minutes, till, say, we're done having sex?

But I can still hear, _I hate you more than I love her_, in my ears, and I feel naked and used at that thought. _Am I going to sleep with someone who hates me?_

When I don't answer, he raises one eyebrow, but not in the snarky, sexy way as before. His look is shrewd, cold. "James…" he said my name again. Damn myself, my cock is trickling pre-come. "What's this all about?"

My cheeks burn. "Nevermind… I dunno…" I lay further back on the bed. "I just-"

The soft, kind touches on my thigh, and his big eyes, dark egg me on. "What?"

"Ijustthinkyoustillhateme, that's all."

"Hate you?" His mouth hangs open for a moment.

I swing my head away, not meeting his eyes, eyelids burning.

"James," he whispers soothingly. I feel his fingertips brush through my bangs, and at the small cool space behind my earlobe; he motherly pushes my hair out of my face. When I chance a glance he is smiling. "You know I don't."

My eyebrows knit together. "You don't?" He shakes his head as I hum in remembrance of all the bad things in that notebook that I'd done to him.

"Not really. Not anymore."

"Really?" I mumble.

"No…" when he touches my ear my whole body shivers. "Let's be honest. I've not forgiven you of _everything_ you did at school, but look…" he grasps my chin and tugs it in his direction. He's smiling slightly, that _honest_ grin. "You're a different person than you were then. Even your face has changed."

His smooth cool palms hold up my face as he kisses me on the forehead. The soft "smech" sound permeates the room.

"I want to hear you say it," I demand. _Go on, say it. Say that you love me_.

He frowns, knowing exactly the phrase I want to hear.

"Please. You know the whole 'I-want-to-say-it-when-I-mean-it' thing is just a way for guys to shut up their girlfriends anyway. I want you to say it."

My heartbeat is fluttering fifty times a second. _Please_.

"Is that what you _really _want?" He whispers, fingers trailing up and down my thighs, "This… us?"

"Yes," I whisper, "Of course."

His lips quirk into small smile. Fingernails scrape down my chest. I let out a hiss. He finally, _finally_, touches me _there_. As one hand grips my still-hard penis, thumb running over the slit, the other fingers run over my cleft. His pinky finger pads over the opening, one pointed nail biting into flesh.

He leans over, running his teeth over my ginger earlobe, and whispers, "I love you." His hot breath steams the inside of my ear, turning my brains into soup. The words puff into my ear again and again like a mantra. "I love you, I love you, I love you…"the hand on my cock moving with that rhythm.

I nearly come.

And then he invades me, the fingernail at my entrance bites underneath the surface and I let out a holler so loud that I think _thank God for silencing charms_. His hand clutches over my mouth to stifle me anyway, and then his middle finger dips between my lips. I coat his finger with spit as his fucks his finger in my mouth all the way to the second knuckle. "Mmph!" I mummer. The dry finger gingerly probing my arsehole circles the muscle gently.

"So fucking beautiful…" Severus mutters, "Gods, you don't even know."

There's so many other things that I want to say back to him, like _No one has ever done this to me, _and_ you're the only one who ever made me feel so complete_… but his fingers are fucking my mouth, and all I can do is moan, eyes rolling into the back of my head.

He removes his slippery fingers and his second hand begins to lazily stroke my cock nice and slow. "Gods, I love looking at you like this, so beautiful." From his angle he has a view of my asshole, which he is dabbing with his now-wet fingers, of my long hard cock, wanting him, of my chest, curling like a woman's, and of my face, wanton, fearful, in love. He drinks me in with his eyes greedily. "You're the only one…" he muffles the rest of his sentence in my crotch.

And suddenly… rippling pain, stretching and itching in that scarcely touched part of me. I let out a whimper of pain. He licks my cock at the head to appease me.

He has two fingers in my arse. His tongue dabs at the base of my cock. He makes long swipes from base to tip. He fucks me with his fingers.

The ripping, itching, pleasurable, rhythmic motions inside my hole shouldn't feel good, but they do. Sweet butterfly kisses stroke the head of my cock. It sends jolts all through my body. He licks it, and then fucks me deep, switching it into and alternating pattern of _lick, fuck, lick…_his eyes flutter closed…_fuck, lick, deeper fuck, swirl around the head_. My body totters in a see-saw of deep pleasurable emotion. _Lick, fuck_… until his smooth, hot lips tentatively wrap themselves around the head and he jolts his fingers all the way into me at the same time. "Ahh!" I moan, throwing my head back as my eyes roll back into my head. He fucks me harder, deeper.

He pauses and looks up at me with that Cheshire-cat stare, his lips abused and rosy red, "Like that?" His fingers dive into me, as far as they can go. But I realize they're only his ring and pinky fingers (_Gods, they felt so big!_) when he takes them out and swipes the pad of his middle finger across my opening. He's not going to suck me unless I say something.

"Yes, _god damn it_, yes, alright! Just…"

"Just what?" His big middle finger pushes further into my stretched hole, the wetness of spit making it more comforting. He swipes his tongue across my sac and I scream into the pillow. Further and further, deeper and deeper, "You _like _me fucking you don't you?" As if he needs me to say it. My thighs, widening for him is all the permission he needs…

He's staring at his own finger, coming in and out of my hole. He bites the inside of my right thigh when I don't respond.

"Go on. Say it. You like Severus Snape's fingers in your tight arse."

"Hmmm… ahhh…." His finger hits something and my entire body contracts.

"Say it!"

"Yes!"

He licks me from my sac to the tip of my penis. "Yes, what?"

"Oh! Severus, just-"

"Just what?"

"Fuck me!"

His eyes widen and his jaw loosens. He hadn't expected us to go so far, and suddenly I'm embarrassed for saying it.

But he smiles and pounds his middle finger into me, "Would you like that?" he whispers hotly, as if the idea was driving him wild, too. "Would you like my slimy, slytherin dick in your arse, you whore?" My mind tells me that I should be offended when he calls me a whore. I'm just turned on, more than I've ever been, and he knows it. His eyes are deep, black wells because his irises are so dilated. He's still wearing that mischievous grin. I feel like I'm hyperventilating from the panic of _that's so hot, but I'm not ready!_ For a second my body tenses from the fear I feel… will it hurt? Sirius said it might hurt…

But Severus is inhaling the scent of my manhood with his big nostrils, sinking his nose into my black pubic hair, fucking me relentlessly with his finger, touching that… oh, really good… spot every time. "Severus," I whimper, trying to convey my nervousness. "I don't…"

Severus takes the head of my dick in his mouth and the lost "…think I'm ready" becomes a deep, throaty moan. He takes me in a little deeper, head bobbing up and down. Jerking me off with one hand, his eyes find mine as he licks along a vein along the side. "You would like that, wouldn't you, you little slut?"

_Yeah, I would_, I think to myself, the fear still there in my chest but somehow warm and welcome. "Sev… uuhhhhh…"

He takes my whole length in his mouth, and slips a second finger in, a bigger one. My hole twitches in pain but soon familiarizes the steady burn. His tongue is doing wicked things to my penis, wicked things that Lily would never be able to do…

"Sev!" I cry.

His head is bobbing up and down, faster and faster. Lips forming a tight ring around my penis, "Uhhhnng… _Sev_!" I feel the pressure forming in my balls. I might come at any moment…

He pulls off of me with a "pop", searching and finding that spot inside me again. He searches the room with his eyes. I stuff my face into my pillow, focusing all my attention on the rippling pleasure inside me, further inside than anyone has been. I rotate against his fingers when he stills inside me. I'm not supposed to like this so much. Severus's smooth, supple fingers are almost touching my soul through the flesh. "Uhh. Oh gods, Sev. You're so good." He smirks, as if to say, _I know_, _but just wait_. Fingers squeeze out of me, slipping off and leaving my hole wide and wanting, empty; I let out a whimpering plea of a sound. He kisses the inside of my thigh. Lunging upwards, he saunters, walking with difficulty to the corner of the room where my Nimbus lays against my desk. He grasps it, looking back at me with a ridiculous mischievous arousal in his eyes.

A broomstick?

But then he limply walks across the room feeling the delicate, perfectly rounded end. I had sandpapered it again and again until it ceased to give me such harsh calloused blisters where I gripped it. And now it is smooth and soft under the touch, the rounded end smooth as a…

Oh, God.

His grins widens as I gape at him. Pulling his wand out of one of the pockets from the inside of his robes, he casts a silent, hissing spell, and the end of broomstick seems to glisten. He claws one thigh, nails digging into the fatty underside, preventing me from wriggling away.

"No!" I say resolutely.

He pouts. "Aw, come one now. You've always liked quidditch." I let out a mewl of annoyance as the rounded head rubs against my agape hole.

He licks one nipple with the small tip of his tongue. "Mmm… you were always good at _riding the broom,_ weren't you?" He smirks. The broomstick pushes inward, _much bigger_ than his fingers, than anything that was ever put there before…

I have the strangest feeling. Even though he said he loved me, I feel like this is another way of having sick, sweet revenge.

All those years I flaunted over being a quidditch star, the proud jock of Gryffindor… and here I am writhing underneath him as he fucks me with my broom. It must be savagely wonderful knowing that however powerful I was over him, he is now so completely powerful over me. I wriggle limply underneath him, like a puppet on loose strings. With the thing I was most proud of, he fucks me. Not just with some odd object, but with the source of my boyish pride. And to add insult to injury…

…I like it. I like it a lot.

However much I want to deny it and say no and scream rape, my cock on my stomach is trickling pre-cum all along my abs. My abs that I got from playing quidditch. "Buggering fucking fuck!" I mutter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I attempt to push his shoulders away. At that he lifts his wand. Wordlessly, my wrists attach themselves to the headboard.

I, the main popular jock of Hogwarts, have never felt so vulnerable. "Severus…" I whisper. Rotating my hips, I join him as he fucks me with calculated perfection. "Huh!"

His body leaves mine for the second time. I watch with eyes hooded by lust as he pulls the beautiful black robes over his head, his hairless chest taught with the action. He wriggles out of his underwear as it falls to the floor. My face falls in shock. I can't help it.

I had never really gotten a good look at his hard cock before. Even when I threatened to pull off his trousers at Hogwarts, he had always given in by that point, as if embarrassed. I had always assessed that that meant he had a very small penis. How wrong I was.

It's _gigantic_. No, gigantic wouldn't even begin to describe… I had thought my penis size was very large, and that I was well endowed. His is nearly two inches longer, and really thick… He described mine as big? Well, his is _huge_! Way back inside the animal part of my brain this makes me angry for some reason. But at the sight of his monster cock mine twitches contentedly.

He grins sheepishly at my gasping face, pulling his manhood through his fingers. He eyes mine with a certain savage longing. He leans over me. Once again our tongues entangle, his wriggling and slithering into my mouth. My balls tighten again. Incredible heat, as he finally moves on top of me. I gasp and writhe against the headboard, as his sweet, silky, hard cock comes in contact with mine. "Ohhh!" Around the broomstick still logged in my arse, the ring of muscles tightens. His whole body and all of it's warmth touches mine, from his arms wrapping around my back, to his nipples poking against my chest, to our long, flat stomachs against each other. All to soon I let out an uncontrollable cry.

His hand worms between us, grasping our cocks in his now hot palm. It takes one-two-three strokes and I'm orgasming, coming in silky white strings, all over our stomachs. "Ahhh! _SEV!_" My whole body shudders and seizes up against him, lips hanging wide and loose. Damn it, I came too quickly.

His eyes flutter close, and his drives his face onto my neck whispering nothings like, "God so good", "Holy Merlin", "James" and "I _love you_." He thrusts against me through my orgasm, coming in spurts shortly after. His come mixes with mine on my stomach. I've never felt so complete.

He gasps, dead weight falling on top of me. "James…" he kisses me, pulling the broom out of my sore pucker without moving off me and whispering a counter curse so that my hands fall, wobbling, to my side. Our cocks make a funny nose when they squelch wetly together. He cleans my chest with a near-by tissue. Light touches that make me shiver… he falls against me.

Deep, calm breaths against my neck.

I whisper, "I love you too."

And I fall asleep.

* * *

My eyelids flutter. I let out a sigh as I see James's closed eyes, his handsome, naked form against mine. We must've fallen asleep. I nudge my overlong pointed nose against his boyish one. His hair is sweaty and askew, sticking to his forehead. I gently touch his forehead, rubbing the hairs out of his calm face. He looks so young when he's asleep. Luckily I didn't wake him up by my snoring this time.

I crane my neck to see the clock on the side of his bed. 18:00. We'd better get up. If James is anything like me, then he probably doesn't like waking up abruptly. I tap his forehead more firmly. Between his eyebrows the crease deepens, but he doesn't wake up.

"James…" I whisper. Now that we are, somewhat officially, lovers (gag me, I hate saying it like that- it makes us sound like characters in a bad witch romance novel) perhaps it would be pertinent for me to come up with a pet name. But I can't imagine ever calling him _honey_, _love_ or _sweetie_. It's just too disgustingly sweet and sugarcoated. Even though I want to forget all of what happened at school, I still can't call him anything so vomit-inducing. _Beloved_ is a bit more serious, but far too Shakespearean. Maybe since he loves Americans so much I should start calling him _Baby_. I smirk to myself. _Hey James, baby, come over here_. I'm sure he'd _love_ that…

Sniggering to myself giddily, I reason that there are worse ones, like _booboo_ and _Pookie_, but I'm sure if I used anything as bad as _baby_ he would hit me. I'd deserve it. But then there is a better term. I wish I had thought of it before:

"Darling," I say. It rolls off my tongue. There's something sort of masculine and official about it, like _Sir Soul mate_ or _Mr. Lover_. Not too cute, not too vain… _Darling_. It's perfect.

Brown eyes peak behind tired eyelids. He smiles happily.

He seems to like it too. I grin a little. He exhales a large breath, stretching his whole body, his toes, his back, and his arms link over his head. "Hi," he whispers. I rub my nose against his again. "What time is it?" His breath skates over my face.

"Time to get up."

He rolls his eyes.

"After six," I say. "And we'd better get dressed… erm… again." I run my fingers through the black-and-brown hair, tugging at the little hairs on the back of his neck. "Sorry I had to go and ruin your beautiful outfit. You looked so handsome earlier."

He makes a hurt expression, his bottom lip bulging.

"…not… that you don't look beautiful now," I purse my lips. "It just might not be proper etiquette if you went to the party naked."

This sends James into a fit of giggles, his nose scrunching up, looking kissable. He laughs for quite longer than usual. "I'm sorry… I just can imagine everyone's face when I go up for trifle completely stalkers."

The image of James Potter standing behind some poor old man in queue for pudding, his tall nude body looming over him with a natural grin plastered to his face permeates my brain.

"No, we can't have that," I pat his bum under the sheets. He leans in for a very shivery, and a very giggly kiss. His shoulders shake with laughter even as he tries to keep his lips still. I kiss back.

My lone, indecent finger worms between his cheeks to check on the wide, ruby-red opening. I pad the loose, hot hole as gingerly as if I were petting a robin's wing. He hisses air through his teeth and I wonder if this is good or bad, "Sore?" I mumble.

I feel blood returning downwards at the thought.

"What made you use the broom?" he asks with accusing eyes.

My face cracks a smile before I try to hide it. "Actually, I had dreamt of impaling you with your own broom when we were at Hogwarts. After you had hit me and made my armpit hair grow to my ankles, remember that one?"

"Er…" he pales, "I think Sirius thought of that."

"Anyway. I thought about taking revenge by trying to come up with a spell that made your broom go through your entire body, so that one day at quidditch practice I would hit you with it, and it would shoot through so that the tail would come up to your ass." James looks stricken, as if he doesn't know whether to laugh or tell me that's morbid, disgusting and dark. So I continue, "And then I saw your broom in the corner… and I thought, _well here's a revenge fantasy that can come to fruition_! Maybe not the _exact_ way I had planned it with your brains going out your nose, but…"

"Sorry to have failed your expectations," he mutters, looking downtrodden.

"No, no. This was sufficiently better. I never expected to get revenge _and_ get off at the same time," I beam. "Not to mention, that I don't want to spoil those beautiful brains anymore."

"Well if you want revenges so much w…"He bit out before I had said _beautiful brains_. "W-why's that?"

I trail a hand and push his hair out of his eyes, touching that hot, blushing forehead with a few fingers. "I dunno. There are some things in there I like." I give him a sheepish smile.

"Really?" He asks, eyelids drooping, looking sleepy again.

"Well, sure. But it's really the heart that I don't want to damage. I need that."

In my mind's eye I see a cedar wooden box in my desk labeled "James's Heart", locked and kept for safe-keeping, where inside lies a still-beating bit of raw tissue. And then I remember that I've said something sweet.

He locks his lips to mine.

"Love it when you talk like that," he says breathlessly.

Five kisses in quick succession grace my lips. He wriggles his hips against mine and I realize that he's half-hard again already. I blush, realizing that I'm getting hard again too. "James!"

He makes a disparaging noise.

"We have to go to the party."

Rolling into an upright position, he lets out a moan like an old man, and starts dressing, socks first, rolling thick polo socks over hairy legs. His whole body is covered with a sheen of sweat. I watch his taught back, leaning on one fist.

And then suddenly I remember why we we're going to his room in the first place, "Fuck."

"What?" He asks.

"Forgot," I land a slobbery kiss on his shoulder, "May I borrow some of your clothes, please?" I straddle behind him, holding his waist and kissing along the back of his neck. His shoulders wriggle into gooseflesh.

James shivers, pants in one hand and shirt in the other.

"Erm…" he blushes, sliding on his underwear while I remain naked behind him. "Do you think you will fit?"

He has a point. I'm thinner around the shoulders and slightly taller. Not to mention I have gigantic clown feet compared to him.

After he dresses himself in pants and his now-wrinkled polo shirt, we try an extra pair of his khakis. They're highwaters on me. My hairy ankles show beneath them. His shirts are too wide around the collar and shoulders and too short in the sleeves…

He sighs. "Be right back," he says mysteriously.

I sit on his bed, wearing a pair of tight highwater trousers that make me look like a teenage boy. I stare scowling at my reflection in the full-length mirror. A big shirt hangs on my shoulders. I feel sixteen again.

I hope he isn't scared of me now, with the broom thing. I thought he would like it. He _did_ like it. But to say it I didn't do it out of hatred would be lying.

Mary Potter's lipstick-ed grin peeks through the door, she beckons me to her with one wrinkled knuckle. I leap up like a boy being called his name in kindergarten. James is blushing outside the door, scratching his elbow vicariously.

"I've got just the thing," she whispers vaguely. I just remember that she's talking about clothes, "Come with me, Severus."

"Mum," says James. "Can you fix my button?" He points towards his stomach. A loose string hangs where another button should be on his shirt. We must've ripped it off in our passion.

She stares at his shirt, concentrating hard, "Wadiwasi!" The button zooms from inside the room and latches itself to James's shirt as if it had never broken off.

"Can never do it quite like you," James scratches the back of his head.

"You'd better fix that shirt up too. Vestis Tersus," she brandishes her wand and his shirt looks ironed again.

I never understood why my mum couldn't use spells like those. She was always so obsessed with her "hard work" that she never wanted to do anything by spells, which left my shirts unwashed and my hair uncombed for weeks on end.

"Thanks, mum," James says.

She kisses him on the chin and whispers, "Go help your father."

He races down the steps, kicking his heels like a schoolboy. "Now then," Mary turns toward me, "if you don't mind me saying, you look quite ridiculous."

I nod.

"Mind if I assist you?" She turns her head like a tired owl.

I shake my head, following her up the stairs as she heaves in shaky breaths on each step. We enter the master bedroom. It's far less grand than I had expected.

Thick brown quilts are tucked in neatly on top of the high master bed. Tall windows, shuttered by thick expensive-looking curtains, let in just a sliver of light. When Mary opens them, I have to squint my eyes and lift my right hand to shield myself from the blinding rays, like a vampire. Now the sun is just over the horizon.

She digs through a brown wardrobe, lined with runes and celtic knots. She opens the sides, surveying what appears like a normal closet space, until she hobbles her elderly frame inside of it, pushes the coats aside and disappears into the back.

Through two thick woolen coats, one lone arm extends, beckoning with one finger for me to follow.

I gape.

Gingerly, I thrust my bare toes through the layers of cloth and I land on moss-like carpet.

"Let's see now…" Mary mutters to herself.

A whole other room appears as I swivel through the coats, wall-to-wall with clothes. Multicolored robes and hats hang from every available surface. A whole wall is just for shoes…

A small white door in the back is labeled "Muggle". She pulls open the door (_a closet within a closet?_) to reveal a smaller closet, fit to the brim with tuxes, suits, ties, dresses and jeans.

"Hmm…" she lifts a plain brown suit. She lays the fabric against my shoulders, judging the length. And then she glances at my face. She shakes her head. "Umm-hmm."

Other suits and ties and jackets get the same silent treatment. I feel like I'm at Olivander's again. "Nope," she says grumbling. "We'll try somebody else…"

She then folds back a layer of jeans reveal another secret, but far more cryptic, doorway that is only marked by a black letter "X". The paint had been smeared over a small bit of wall. She knocks it twice and the door springs open. She grunts and has to bend over to get into the hobbit-hole.

This room looks like an attic more than anything. It is not much other than dark plywood and that damp-dewy smell. Odd mismatched furniture, a few paintings, and a trunk… a trunk that matches my grandfather's in my attic exactly.

She opens it and dusts off one of the most handsome suits I've ever seen. Long dark pants, a starch, stiff collared shirt, and a thin black suit-vest hang underneath a tight suit-jacket. "This ought to do," she sniffs the suit and, seemingly not appalled by the odor, hands it over to me for inspecting.

It must be Italian. Hand-crafted. I don't need to ask her but I do anyway, "Who's…?"

She merely nods and smiles.

Her trunk, too, is full of letters, but when I peer inside she snaps it shut. "I think the jacket would be a bit much, dear, but it ought to look handsome and…" she tries to act like she doesn't care about the owner of the jacket, "it'll fit you far better than any clothing of the Potter family. You're tall and thin… you look like him… and, well, as far as I'm concerned it's yours anyway."

I run my fingers over the soft silky fabric. "What made you choose him?"

She dusts off one of the nearby chairs, ignoring me.

"Mary…" I say, stepping over the invisible boundary, becoming far more informal, "What made you choose William and not… not my grandfather?"

"Do you regret my decision?" she asks with a white raised eyebrow, eyes alighting with malice and mischief.

"Of course not," I flicker my head as if to siphon off a fly, "If you hadn't married William you wouldn't have had James… but what made you choose one over the other? I mean, you loved both of them, didn't you?"

She stares at me long and hard, studying the boy in front of her clutching his grandfather's robes, "One had money and the other didn't?" she smiles.

I blanch.

"Just kidding," she grins, "actually your grandfather was the one with the money and my husband was as poor when I married him. No, it wasn't anything like that."

"What was it then?" I pursue. "I _need_ to know."

She continues to stare, until she takes me by both arms and says, "Severus, people like us are good at loving other people. But we're not so good at letting other people love us."

I feel the synapses in my brain trying to emit new impulses. It's malfunctioning.

"We like to do the loving. It makes us feel more responsible, more in control…" she sways her head slowly from side to side. "It might be difficult to admit but you _are_ worthy of being loved too, Severus."

A strange quivering feeling graces my chest, as if Mrs. Potter could see through my skin at my very soul hiding within my body.

She places both hands on my face. "When your busy taking care of everybody else sometimes it's hard to tell who loves you. My advice is to take a moment to realize who truly cares about _you_ and who just wants your _attention_."

I nod vigorously.

"Is that too cryptic?" She pulls my hair behind my ears again, like a nervous habit already formed, "Bollocks, I'm old. I'm sure this makes no sense to you at all."

"No…" I bite my lip, "It makes sense." _It makes too much sense_.

She smiles. "Now go put that on and go to that party!"

* * *

Footnotes:

To those who may be wondering about how Severus's grandfather was able to hook up with James's mum, age-wise, I've sort of figured it out. I think. So, according to JK Rowling, Mr. and Mrs. Potter were "very old, even by wizarding standards" at this time. Mrs. Potter couldn't have been incredibly old, considering that she had to have given birth to James twenty years previous. Women, or muggle women, usually don't give birth past their late forties (around 48 I would think) and even considering the fact that she had magical medicine and healers at the time of James's birth, I can hardly imagine her being past 60. Let's call it 55. Twenty-one years later she would be 76. Which isn't necessarily "very old" in general but it may have been in the seventies and considering she was still James's mother this is fairly old.

Now for Severus's grandfather. As previous mentioned in chapter two I believe Eileen was young when she had had Severus (which may or may not be cannon). Severus is also twenty-one, so Eileen, if she indeed had her son at, let's say, twenty-one, would now be forty-two. Which is young but not indecently young. Tobias might be around Forty-four or so. So Severus's grandfather, Eileen's father, Mr. Prince would not be quite as old as first though, even if he had Eileen at perhaps an old age of fifty-two. This would make him currently ninety-four. Which is nearly a twenty-year difference. That isn't an incredible gap. You might consider that Mary may have been twenty-five and he fourty-three when they had an affair (in the thirties, right before William began to "woo" his bride-to-be with "Minnie the Moocher"). Which is young enough for her not to be married yet and old enough for her to regard Mr. Prince as an aging, lonely old man. Not to mention it would be an eyebrow-raiser to anyone acquainted with him.

Wow, that's confusing! But I figured somebody would ask about it, so I posted my mental rational.

* * *

_Darling_- as defined my Wikipedia, "means "my only one", as in there is no other."

* * *


	12. Chapter 12: The Party

My father has blueberries in his whiskers still. He's staring out of the window with a very odd expression. Seeing him without a newspaper or a bit of reading in front of him is odd. The bowl of berries remain untouched in front of him as he stares at the sunset. Just sitting. Just watching.

"Dad?"

He continues to stare outside, and grumbles, "What, James?"

I take a seat across from him. Staring at his statue-like form, I whisper, "Is something the matter?"

"No," he scratches his chin, eyes glittering in the direction of the garden, lit by the calm ruby sky. "Just got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something I ate, probably."

I snort. "The berries?"

Dad stares at me, and then chuckles, "I _have_ had one too many."

"Dad?"

He then picks up his usual _Evening_ _Prophet_ and I feel much more at ease. "Yes, James?"

"Do you like Severus?"

"Sure." He scans the front page, and opens the paper, creating a wall of news between us.

"I mean…" I swallow, trying to master my nerves, "better than Lily?"

I think now he's just using the paper to hide his facial expression.

"Well, I don't know," he coughs loudly and unnecessarily, "he seems to make you happy."

"But what do _you_ think?"

He sets down his paper on the table, staining a page with blueberry juice and growls, "If your questioning how I like Severus as one of you suitors, one of your future life-long lovers, then I think I would have to say that even despite a lack of grandchildren, and ending of the family line, I like him better than Lily Evans."

I think it's the most words he's said to me about this whole ordeal since he called me "flirtatious". I'm a bit bowled over by the harsh annoyance in his voice.

He shakes his head and flicks his paper back in front of his face, muttering, "Especially after what I saw this morning."

This morning? What could he have possibly seen this morning? Severus didn't come over until the afternoon! Unless…

Oh, gods.

Oh, _God_!

Buggering fucking Merlin. Oh, gods! I left the memory of Severus and Lily having sex in my father's _pensieve!_ My face feels suddenly pale and pasty. My forehead cools twenty degrees but my ears burn like coals. I'm about to faint.

"No. No, way. Dad. Tell me you didn't see that!"

Dad is blushing too, from the sliver of his face I can see over the newspaper. "Nearly had a bloody fucking heart-attack."

I feel like I could die right there. And… I can't stop laughing. Laughing coming from the white-hot furnace inside of me…

Dad's tomato-red face cracks a smile.

I can only imagine the look on my father's old face when those two going at it flitter in between his memories. I let out a roar, holding the stitch in my side. The nerves just well into bubbling laughter, "I'M- SO- SORRY!" I say between burst of giggles.

Dad, his head in one hand, tries to have some dignity and hold down his chuckles as well.

"YOU SAW THEM HAVE SEX!"

He snorts indignantly, "I pulled out once I realized what was going on!"

My insides feel fit to burst. Tears trickle out of my eyelids.

Five minutes later, I'm calm enough to make human-sounding noises again. "I'll take it out…"

"Later on," says Father, "Right now you should get ready for the party. I'll ask Severus to take it out later. It is _his _past after all."

"That'll be awkward…"

He sways his head from side to side, "Well…"

"I can't believe… Dad, I'm _so_ sorry," I mumble wondering how terribly awkward it'll be for him to ask Severus… to… oh bloody hell. "Do you want me to ask him?"

"Later! Later," Father waves off this recommendation. "Once you've gotten him thoroughly drunk and he doesn't mind!"

We're quiet for a few moments. Dad hides behind the newspaper but I can still see his flaming earlobes. I wipe the smirk off of my face. I'm secretly coming up with a plan to get him drunk right now. Hard cider is one of the top choices.

"But then," I ask, "why is it that you don't like Lily Evans?"

Dad lowers his newspaper and raises his eyes to the ceiling. "Isn't it obvious?"

I gape. Squishing my face up to resemble an old man's, I say, "Not a bit."

He folds his paper and pops a berry into his mouth again. "I think it rather should be."

I stare.

"I'm not saying that I disapprove of her natural character. You don't love her."

Before I can bellow out an indignant retort he raises his hand.

"No, James, you don't," he says, "take it from an old man. Love is a very confusing thing. _Both _of them betrayed you. You forgave one of your school rivals who stabbed you in the back before you forgave a girl that has been head-over-heels in love with you since school."

"Well, yeah," I tell him, "but that's because I've been a bit of an idiot…"

He raises one white eyebrow, "And why would you be acting like an idiot?"

"Because…"

"Because you're in love with Severus," Dad says. "Obviously."

"But…"

Thumping noises echo down the main stairwell. I can tell by just the rhythm and cadence of the steps that it is Severus's stride. Twirling my head immediately, I see a pair of boots, the same handsome black pair that he was wearing before, peeking from underneath handsome black trousers.

My vision trails up his body, as if in slow-motion, as if I'm watching one of those flamboyant, sexualized perfume commercials. How can it be possible that someone I, at one point, deemed the ugliest person in my life could become so incredibly dashing? My breath is taken away. Such calm, humble elegance… a vision of a perfect gentleman. His white shirt clings to him in all the right places. A tight black vest hugs his thin, muscular chest. The trousers stretch over his thighs, fitting every inch of his legs perfectly. He twirls a black jacket around his shoulders, which follows behind him like a cape. On the edge of the last stair, he steps down and his silky black hair twirls about his face. The whiteness of his collar, fitting perfectly along that bare, lickable neck, makes his skin seem less pale, slightly more colored.

My body has stood up and walked toward him without my mind realizing it. My heart gravitates toward him, and my body lamely drags along.

He smiles, tightening at the side of his mouth, and my heart feels like it has exploded.

"You're mum found this," Severus tugs at the sleeves of his shirt. "Resourceful, isn't she?"

I bite my lip, gazing up and down and up and down his body. Forget the party. Let's go back to bed.

"You don't think it's too much?" He gazes at himself skeptically in the large mirror at the end of the hall. "Don't want to be overdressed."

"You're very handsome," I swallow dryly.

He rolls his eyes in the mirror, and adjusts the collar, "Well, as long as you think so."

I think we should get married in suits like that. Bloody hell, where did that thought come from? Fuck. Boys don't get married.

My mirror-self stands next to him, and I stare into my boyish face. Into my eccentric outfit. Through my thick glasses. And I realized another reason I may have picked on him all these years. One was because of Lily. Another was because I was in Gryffindor and he was in Slytherin. But also, I wanted his attention. How could a dork in glasses get someone so cunning and handsome to like him?

I pull off my glasses and the vision in the mirror becomes blurred.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

I pocket them and pull out my wand. I silently perform the complicated sight-adjustment spell. A series of careful charms and my vision in the mirror is as good as before. Tears stream down my face for a moment, a side effect of the charm, and after wiping down my face with a handkerchief I'm good. "Don't want to wear them. They're cheesy," I wave off. "Besides I'm going to a party."

Severus looks oddly concerned, "But I like your dorky glasses."

I walk towards the kitchen, ignoring him. I sit at the kitchen table to find my father staring at me with a strange, constrained expression on his face.

Snape sits next to me, folding his legs, "Sorry. I didn't mean _dorky_. I just like them. They make you look hand-"

My father makes a very slight shake of his head. So slight that I don't think I was meant to see it. Severus raises an eyebrow. "-some… but… do what you want…"

My father puts down his paper.

"Well, boys, maybe since you're both dressed, you should be getting along."

"But it's only six-forty-five!" I insist. "If we go early it'll be bad luck!"

"It's fine. I'm not going to go yet, anyway. You boys go ahead and we'll meet you lot back here in a half hour."

"Wait…" I ask, "Back here?"

"We need one of you to help us with the pies." When Severus turns, he give me a wink that clearly means, _we need to get Severus to take out the memory_.

* * *

Opening the picket fence, I find the late springtime air sticky with smells. Honeysuckle, blueberry pie, figs, and smoking sausages waft towards me. The breeze is misty and humid; the heat of the day never truly leaving even thought it's is almost dark. The fireflies have already come out to play even though the sky is still pink on the horizon. Children ready their nets and their jelly jars for the great firefly chase on the edge of the party in the high grass. It is neither day nor night; it reminds me of when I met James on the rooftops…

Most of the men are wearing silk ties and tweed jackets, their sons wearing smart-looking vests and pollo shirts- much like James himself- and they are stuffing their lips with cigars or pipes or brandy. We had come, after all, very late, and most are imbibing in creamy desserts or Irish coffee or tobacco. I'm starving. I hadn't eaten all day, save a bit of tea this morning and a yogurt, because I had been saving myself for five. And now a deep rumble tickles my stomach, accompanied with a few aches and pains.

I turn to see James with a full pile of food. Heaps of salad, tripe, sausages and potato salad decorate the china plate. He has a skyscraper of cucumber sandwiches tottering on a saucer. Winking at me, he motions with his chin toward the white-tablecloth-covered tables, beckoning me to find a seat.

A creature of a woman, lets out a loud, "Hungry, young Potter?"

He smiles, having bitten into one of his cucumber sandwiches, returns a muffled, "Phhamishhhed."

The creature hobbles toward him, a brass cane clutched in her thick, veiny claws. She looks somewhat like an old owl, popping her overlarge eyes behind a thick knitted shawl. She's wearing purple slippers on her swollen feet. She's a stout old woman, barely reaching James's chest in height. Her nose is wrinkled and long, and her eyes are sallow and dark.

"So rude," says another woman, behind me in the line for potato salad. "You would think after ten years of coming to this party late…"

I turn slowly, hardly surprised when I see a woman of similar age slopping salad onto her plate; her voice sounds so shriekingly old, like nails on a chalkboard. "I wouldn't try that one, dear," she says when I place a scooper in bowl of fresh green-bean salad, "Martha made that and she's always been bad about using old mayonnaise. Got everybody sick last year."

She says that so loud that several people from neighboring tables turn to glare at her. She smiles at me, not noticing them. "And who are you? Not another relative of the Palmsa-Sparrows?"

"Stop nosing about, Muriel," said the other old woman in the shawl. "James Potter brought him in, did he not?"

"I only asked because they're Jewish. All I need is another person asking me about where my assets are," she says, again very loudly so that I blush crimson when a group of black-haired, hooked-nosed muggles (who bear certain similarities to my figure) glare at me from over their coffees.

"I have no intention of creating a new checking account for you, madam," I say resolutely. Muriel stares at me long and hard, as if studying my sincerity and general character.

"You will have to excuse her," says the owl-like lady. Her voice is quite low and soft like the beating of a dove's wing. It's the opposite of Muriel's screechingly loud voice, like a vulture's. "She thinks that becoming old automatically allows her to be rude to everybody."

I nod, but Muriel ignores the lady as if she hadn't heard, still staring at me. "You _are_ a wizard, then. Are you not?" she asks in a very low, growling voice.

My eyes widen, "Yes, madam, I am."

"Good to know," says the woman, patting my arm with a stiff, scratchy hand and pushing me out of the way. She totters off in the direction of the trifles.

The other batty woman swings her arm into James's open one, and says, "Come, now, sit with me, Potter."

Biting his sandwich without using hands, he nods.

I follow them, sheepishly, to table far away from most of the crowd, in the back corner. A lonely candle keeps the bugs at bay and lights the small table for four. Pink clouds clutter the sky. Our table is just along the brush of the tall grass, which is darkening in the receding light. Putting down his gargantuan plate, my darling pulls out the woman's white chair for her, while she thanks him, muttering "what a gentleman," and "thank you, dear."

"Now who is this?"

I shiver at her kind, soul-searching gaze, reminiscent of Dumbledore's.

"I'm Severus Snape," I say plainly.

"Bathilda Bagshot," she says over tightly knitted old fingers, her cane resting on her lap. "It was wise to not bring Sirius this year," she mutters to James, "Muriel would have had a cow."

I smile.

"But I thought you would have brought your fiancé…"

James and I look at each other.

"Couldn't make it," James lies through his teeth.

The woman waves off the excuse with the back of her thick-fingered hand.

"Wait a moment," I say with a sudden revelation, "Bagshot, the woman who wrote _Hogwarts a History_?"

Her purpling, veiny lips spread to reveal crooked browning canines and yellow incisors in a twisted representation of a smile, "Yes. Thought we might get there eventually. You _did _go to Hogwarts, didn't you?" I nod vigorously. "Are you telling me that you actually _read_ the book, or that you just happened to know the author?"

"Read it? I _memorized_ it!" I exclaim indignantly. "Knew it page-by-page by the time I was nine." I couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts, I would pore over and highlight the pages whilst my parents fought downstairs.

She smiles again, showing more mossy teeth. A mole on the bottom of her chin sticks out further with the action. "James never read it, did you James?"

James, whose mouth is full of potato salad, shakes his head. "Duddnent," Swallowing hard, he mutters, "Wanted to find out for myself, is all."

"It was a remarkable work," I say, taking up my knife and fork and digging into the sustenance, "Very well researched..."

"Yes," she tugs at a hair sticking out of her mole as my stomach wriggles, "one of my personal favorites."

"Was it?"

"Oh, yes. Plenty of good gossip. All history is truly just very well established gossip, anyway," she grins. I mull over this, stuffing my mouth with steak and kidney pie. Perhaps she's right. "Conversing with the Fat Friar and Sir Nicholas was most fun, I must say," says Mrs. Bagshot. "Though Armando Dippet wouldn't give me any answers about certain aspects of the school. Albus was a tad more helpful but I think he was lying out of his arse throughout half of it. The whippersnapper." She smiles fondly.

"Professor Dumbledore?" James says, in-between bites, "Lying?" The gullible sap.

She gives a wider grin. "Oh, I knew him as a schoolboy. He couldn't lie to me then, either."

I splutter my cider into my cup. The image of a young Dumbledore just doesn't look right in my head. Before I can say, _Albus Dumbledore was young once, you mean?_ I ask, "You knew Albus Dumbledore as a boy?" She nods. This woman must be at least a hundred years old to be able to call white-bearded _Dumbledore_ a whippersnapper. "My… you look… remarkable well for your age!"

The old lady straightens her back a bit, her height barely changing with the posture, "Ate the crust of my bread and drank my apple juice every day, I did." She says beaming. She winks as though she had taken a liking to me already.

She smacks James on the arm and whispers something in his ear. I blush.

"So what was he like?" I ask.

"Dumbledore?" She says.

"As a kid, I mean."

"Oh," She smiles, coyly, as if waiting for me to interrogate. "He was very bright in the head, that one. Family life, of course, very shrouded in tragedy and mystery. But that's a _sad_ story." Her wrinkled, mole-covered face twinkles; her eyes blink once or twice, as if begging me to ask more.

James rolls his eyes. "He knew Gellert Grindelwald personally, too!"

Bagshot glares at him, as though he had spoilt the best part of a book she hadn't read yet. As if he had told the end of her fascinating story. "James!" She continues, a little less theatrical and excited. "Yes, he knew him. In fact," she lowers her already very quiet voice so that I have to lean in to smell the dead skin on her cheeks, "He was my nephew, Gellert… him and Albus took a shining to each other. They were engaged."

I stop chewing.

This woman has to be off her rocker.

"The dark wizard Grindelwald."

She nods.

"Was engaged to Albus Dumbledore."

She nods.

"Romantically."

She nods again and behind her head James makes a loopy motion with his finger at the side of his brain, and rolls his eyes.

"Huh," is all I can say.

"Never would have thought it, eh?" She smiles, showing off those mossy teeth again. "Got some of the best gossip in Godric's Hollow… and did you know-"

"Oh, _look at the time_!" says James exuberantly motioning at his watch. "We'd better go and grab those _pies,_ haven't we?"

"Oh, that's right," I say. I try to act sorry, "We promised James's mum that we'd help her bring the pies back."

She grins, "Well, let me not be the reason that those famous Potter pies got held up. Go on, boys!"

We dump our half-eaten dinner in a bin and walk brusquely down the lane, towards James's house again. My stomach gurgles, trying to digest the pie, the sandwiches and the image of a young Dumbledore. Whenever I glance at Potter, he's trying to stifle a ridiculous grin. I imagine that he's heard that story before.

It's completely dark now. The lane is colored sparse candlelit street lamps, which may or may not be lit by magic. The moon is glowing almost too bright for a crescent moon. The pavement turns into cobblestone. The stars are pinpricks in a cloudy sky.

"Just losing her touch," James says. "She's not completely mental. Just like Dad, I supposed. Losing a sense of reality."

We walk along the darkened lane, treading slowly, enjoying the moonlight. Our stride matches rhythmically, though I'm lower to the ground, and James marches like a prince. The pace has decreased from a dart to a promenade. I take in the sights of the empty street, the handsome rows of bushes, the older buildings. James entangles his pinky in mine. We're almost holding hands, but not quite.

"Dumbledore always did have impeccable fashion taste, though," I say, mock-pensively.

James chuckles, "Not _every_ gay man has impeccable fashion sense. Come off it."

A hyena-like sniggering noise… must've been the wind.

We turn a corner, and four dark figures block the narrow alleyway ahead. We walk towards them, and all light seems to be snuffed out. The stench of tobacco and stale gin whiffs through my nostrils and the hairs on the back on my neck stand on end. "Let's go back," squeaks James suddenly.

Pivoting on the heel of his expensive brown shoes, I grab him before he stampedes back down the lane. "It's the quickest way home!" I say. They're four people from a nice neighborhood. It's not like the alleyways at home, in London. Not like we're going to get mugged…

"Hey there, 'impeccable fashion sense," says one of the voices.

"Impeccable fashion sense," another chuckles out a billowing smoke ring, "My arse."

"Ooo… I've got impeccable fashion sense." One of the other men makes a harsh, but accurate impression of James's most insecure voice.

James looks at the cobblestone. "Go 'way," his voice is frail, diluted.

"Go away?" A cigarette from the tallest figure flicks into fireworks on the brick wall next to us. A very tall, burly man stands in our way, lit only from behind. "Don't want to play this year? Eh, foureyes?"

He gives James a small nudge on the shoulder. James merely stares at the floor, rigid.

Four eyes?

_Four eyes_? I think to myself. _James… bullied. JAMES Potter is being bullied?_ James shakes his head and blushes. His tightly clenched fists tremble a bit. He's not even wearing his glasses…

It unsettles me. In more ways than one. James Potter should be synonymous with quidditch and burly muscles and hamburgers and girls on his shoulders and hundreds of friends and cowboys and beating up greasy Slytherins like me.

James Potter can't be pushed around. It's just not possible. An oxymoron.

The man grins. One finger trails along James's chin and something explodes inside of me. He lifts his face until James's brown eyes glance at him fearfully and then they dart back at the ground. "Sorry," I almost sound like a yowling cat when I say it, "Who are you?"

The man lights his second cigarette. The flicker flashes over light blue eyes, bleach-blond hair, and a very round nose. But his handsome features have gone to seed… his freckled skin is spotty from prolonged exposure to the sun, his hands are calloused, and his teeth yellowing, "Benjamin Harding. And who is this fine young gentleman?"

A glance downward reminds me that I'm wearing my grandfather's slightly-too-fancy outfit. "Oh, don't let the suit fool you," I say. I protrude a hand.

He shakes it, and I squeeze his fingers harder than I've squeezed anyone's ever. "I'm actually quite a bastard." He smirks. "Call me Sev." I usually shorten my name whenever I have to deal with particularly dense muggles (which, I would assume from his crumpled jeans, Benjamin must be).

"Is Sev a friend of yours, foureyes?" Ben flicks ashes on James's sweater.

Why isn't James doing anything?

"Is this your impeccable fashion sense buddy?" He says, leaning over James's childish, scrunched figure. He looks so small compared to him, blimey… "Do you compare notes?" Ben towers a head over him, and even James's burly quiddich muscles can't compare to Ben's. From mining, I suppose. "Hmm? Do you pick out each other's clothing?"

"Is there a problem?" I say, my voice becoming so raspy and low, that I feel like I could turn into batman and become this guy's worst nightmare.

Ben doesn't take his eyes off of James's. Sweat is tricking down James's long thin nose. "No," He whispers his sticking breath over James's handsome face, "But just know that this kid is more queer than Fonzy is straight." I don't know who "Fonzy" is, but I take it that's an insult.

I want to say, _I know_. But my darling's face is white and contorted with fear.

"I don't care," I growl.

Ben's eyes flicker to me in disbelief and then back at James, fixing him with a snake-like stare. This pins James to the wall like a lifeless marionette thrown aside.

"You _should_," Ben isn't having fun anymore. His boyish blue eyes pierces James's like shards of ice, "cause he's a dangerous one, he'll just leap all over you and…"

"Stop!" James says in a shaky voice. "Leave us alone."

One of the others cackles, "Leave _him_ alone is more like it." Ben rolls his eyes.

"He isn't dangerous. Tobacco is dangerous. Gin is dangerous. _He_ can't hurt me," I sputter out before I realize what I'm saying.

James's eyes widen, and moisten. I give him a confused, _well-go-get-him_ glance. And then I remember that I've said something that has… in a weird way… to do with forgiveness, love and forgetting what happened in school. _You're fine_, I try to communicate through my eyes, _just calm down. You're fine…_

I'm wondering when he's going to put on the glasses and turn into the super butch masculine hero I know he is.

Ben pushes James in the chest. He stumbles, sweater skating along the brick wall, sending crumbling bits of brick and mortar showering the floor. James shields himself with his arms, preparing for something that I would never dream to be coming.

"Stop!" I say.

Potter holds his defensive stance, stiff as a board.

Ben lifts a fist.

I grab his arm and run.

The punch that was aiming for James's face lands square on the brick, clipping rubble in its wake. A swear and a few catcalls follow us. I apparate without thinking, to the fifty feet up the hill. "What did you…?!" James asks once the popping of our ears has subsided.

"Who the fuck were those guys?" I demand into the evening sky.

When I turn, James has retreated into the warm light of his house. I can see his shadow in the window of the kitchen. His mum and dads' silhouettes look concerned.

Anger, bubbling up from nowhere, boils over into my brain. James is _not_ allowed to act weak.

He's being a child… crying to his parents. As if _I_ hadn't been bullied just like that all those years. By _him_. And did I cry to my parents when I got back from school? You bet to fucking hell I didn't. I had no one to cry to. James Potter isn't _allowed_ to get sympathy.

But I'm exaggerating. He's not crying. Nearly, but not quite. I see his clean, dry face, gulping for breaths. "Ben… and those… other boys… they…"

"Lock the doors, Mary," says Potter senior. He pulls his son's shoulders so that he could see eye-to-eye. "Did they harm you?"

He shakes his head rapidly. "Severus saved-"

"Do we need to contact the ministry? The police?"

"No."

_Bloody hell, what's going on?_

I let out a minor gasp. "The police? They were just a couple of drunk guys looking to start a fight," I say.

Everyone in the room gives me a look that plainly says, "_You think so, do you?"_

"W-weren't they?"

James buries his face in his hands.

"Severus," says William, "perhaps you should come with me."

Mary hugs her boy once William is done patting him on the shoulder. James says, "No!" His ears are red and he seems even more upset than before. He can't look at me in the eyes. He shakes his head at his Dad, eyes closed.

"Severus," the man grips my wrist from his wheelchair. A _pop_ later and we're upstairs in the bedroom with the many-layered wardrobe.

Mr. Potter's face is as white as a sheet. He asks, "Is he lying?"

"What?"

"Is James lying?"

"What?" I fumble, "About what?"

"Did they hurt him?"

I squint my eyes, "Of _course_ not! Do you think I would've stood by and-"

"Right," The old man runs his thick fingers through very sweaty white hair. His wrist shakes. "Right." He looks ready to pass out. A vein in his temple pulses; he turns an ugly shade of purple.

The shivering turns quickly into the shakes. "What the hell have you been doing, here?"

The intonation of his voice at the floor makes the quiet _what do you mean_ die in my throat. He points his finger at the carpet, becoming so pale, so disgusted, so suddenly flabbergasted that this _must_ be a memory. "James…" he says with all of the authority in his fatherly voice. "Get up now. And you…" he points to the other end of the carpet, where an invisible Benjamin Harding looks up ashamed. "Need to go to your mum's. I'm calling the police."

Silence rings throughout the room, but Mr. Potter is still shaking his head slowly, as if a minor figure on the ground were still shouting complaints. Bile rises in his throat; I can see him swallow. "Get out, Ben."

I grimace. What does that mean?

He shakes himself to a halt. I whisper, "What happened?"

His shoulders slump. Reality rushes over his face, cooling the sweat on his temple. He wipes a handkerchief over his eyes, sighing, "I think there is something you need to see in there." He points to an ajar cabinet door.

"A Pensieve?"

He merely nods. "James left a memory of yours in there too. Mind fishing it out?"

"Of mine?"

Mr. Potter is gone. I turn around and his wheelchair is turning out of the door, leaving me to stare at my shadow on the cabinet door. The edge of the sieve glows with the colors of the thoughts inside, swirling as if it were a cauldron still stirred by a ghost. I glance down my long nose at the faces that bubble to the surface. Lily's face in the throws of passion (_She showed me what happened, _James had said, apparently he left the foul memory there), my own with the glow of young love in my eyes, a young black-haired woman (_Mary when she was younger, perhaps?)_, William's face… Edward's face.

"He hurt me, Daddy…" echoes one small boy's voice. "Kicked me!"

"_Why_ did you _let_ him kick you, Jamie," answers a stressed man's voice. Without my noticing a piece of my hair sinks into the liquid-gas.

Little James wipes his nose, "I don't like him!" He pouts, "He makes me do stupid things until I explode." He explains.

"And why would he want you to explode?" He asks.

He draws lines in the dirt with his shoe. "Because… because," His eyes dart up and down and all over, searching for an answer, "because then I do magic!" When he says _magic_, a small smile graces his lips, and his arms fly out from behind his back. "Not on purpose!" He says after a few seconds (his father must've given him an aggrieved face). "I can't help it. He makes me so agerdated." He bites his lip apologetically.

"Aggravated," says Mr. Potter.

James smiles. "Right, I meant that one. Aggravated." He abashedly clutches on to his father's hand. "He makes me aggravated."

Enthralled in their conversation, because they must be talking about Benjamin, I dive into the bowl headfirst. An unsettling, dizzy sensation, and I'm on my feet again in the garden at the back of Potter Manor.

"He makes you aggravated until you explode and do magic," His father echoes.

"Yeah," James says, clutching to his hand and following him into the house. I trot after them. "I think he likes it. Magic. I think he likes trying to get me to do things."

They enter into the hall. Mr. Potter merely shakes his head, "You can't try to appease to somebody who terrorizes you!"

"What's appease mean?" James asks.

Mr. Potter shakes his head, "To please somebody just to get them to go away. It never works."

"Oh," James looks downtrodden at the carpet. They trot upstairs, socks and shoes rubbing over thick red carpet. James's mum calls something up to him about laundry…

Memories shift. Two lovers in union, red hair and black hair, rutting against each other on a bed… _No_, I think to myself, _not that one. _I don't care about that right now.

A young girl and a boy, smiling and walking together through green and flowery meadows … a younger William and Mary, who broke my grandfather's heart.

Soldiers, uniforms, a muggle train leaving off to Germany… William, in English uniform, waves goodbye to a crying Mary in the crowd as the train takes him away. She chases the train, waving wildly, struggling to breath from the exertion and the sobs. When the train moves too far away, he punches the compartment door, hard.

I use all of my occlumency powers to steer myself through the memories like a captain of a wooden vessel in a hurricane.

Guns, mud, "_Jake! NO!_" Muddy, bloody hands shake an unconscious soldier. His eyelids flutter open, he struggles to breathe. William beams, "You're going to make it, stay with me…" The other soldier coughs. Deep heaving breaths wrack his figure, and William lifts the man a flings him around his soldiers.

Pregnancy looks well on a younger Mary; she holds her stomach happily.

Edward's face looks like a dragon's red-eyed stare… he lifts one leather glove and slaps William's boyish face with it. He clutches his cheek, astonished.

A ring on a young girl's finger…

"James!" Mr. Potter barks. I feel like I've heard this tone of voice before: "You've got to go outside with the other boys!" He waggles his finger in the air. His attention is drawn to the _real_ James standing not three feet away from him. He looks quite a few years older, maybe 12 or 13. "They're all out playing cricket. I know they're muggles. Don't try to do any more magic! The last time you did Ben had boils for a week. This time you've got to be more careful."

James nods and stares at the floor. He's decked out in raggy outdoor clothing.

His father nods once, "I'll see you back at 8:30 then?"

The younger James bites his lip. "Can Ben and I have a sleep over?"

Mr. Potter rounds on him in disbelief. James appears innocent, coy.

He grimaces, "Ask your mother first."

James beams and runs down the hall to his mum, who is washing dishes. She makes a shriek of an "Of _course_" and kisses James on the top of the head happily.

"Right, then," Williams says. "Have him over here and not the visa versa."

James smiles happily and flies out the door and down the road to play cricket.

The scene changes, and I pull, with all of my mind power, to find the next chronological memory in the chain of events, steering towards the answers to my burning questions…

William and Mary wear matching bathrobes (William in a navy blue, Mary in a deep red) as they blow their son and Benjamin kisses good night. Slowly, inch by inch, they shut the door to go to sleep. I whirl around. Usually, one must follow the person whose memory it is, but William has left, and now James and Benjamin are still in bed tickling each other.

Unless… this is James's memory? James lets out a shriek, as Ben twists one of his nipples through his shirt, James retaliates by trying to tickle Ben, but Ben's chest is firm and he's not ticklish at all.

James giggles into his pillow. If these weren't young kids I would say that he was flirting with him. He leans in close and lays a head on Ben's shoulder. Ben, who looks a few years older, pushes him off, hard.

"Ouch!" James says, feeling his neck, his dazed and happy smile siphoned away.

"Stop, four eyes," Ben rolls his eyes at the ceiling, "You need to lay off."

"Sorry," James blushes. "I'm just a huggy person."

"Huggy? Try queer."

James blushes even more, and his boyish face lights up like a traffic light. "I like to hug… is that a problem?" He puffs his chest out defensively.

"Yes. Only poufs hug. Lay off," Ben says.

James folds his arms over his chest, "Sorry."

Ben's large forehead furrows in curiosity. "You're not… are you?"

"I… don't…" James's glasses slip down his nose.

"You don't _like other boys_, I mean."

James opens and shuts his mouth like a codfish pulled out of water. "I dunno."

Ben scrutinizes, "You _don't know_? What do you mean? Just say _no_."

James squirms next to him. "I've never kissed a boy."

"_Why should that matter?_" Ben fumes, hitting James very hard in the middle with his pillow.

James laughs, thinking merrily that they're playing some sort of game, "Well then I don't know what I'd like best."

Ben glowers, "You like _girls_ best."

James shrugs, and promptly hits Ben back with a pillow. He stuffs it into his face. Ben pushes him off, hard. Ben stuffs the pillow he had back onto the headboard and sets himself underneath the covers, giving James furious glares.

James asks, after he had curled into a tight ball next to him, "Haven't you ever thought about it?"

"What?"

"What it would be like?" James, the younger, more brave, more "huggy" James, leans in closer to Ben. He trails a hand along Ben's arm. A shiver as if from an electric shock, trails up Ben's spine. And he gives him a glare of deepest loathing. "It can't be that bad, can it? I mean… it would be just like kissing one of your mates!"

"Only not," Ben's face turns bright red. "Only you'd be a pouf!"

James sighs.

Ben looks very hot and uncomfortable now. He clutches his blankets very tightly around him and refuses to look James in the eyes.

James bites his lip, watching Ben's cheeks light up like Santa's.

Ben stares out the window. "People who do that. They aren't right in the head."

"Sorry?"

"They hurt each other."

James's eyebrows form one thick line, "What do you mean?"

"Boys aren't supposed to touch other boys like that… it's _wrong_!"

Ben seemed to be getting more and more upset.

James traced lines along Ben's back absentmindedly. This only spurs Ben on. He swings round, pinning James's small wrists to the head post and leaning his weight on top of him.

James's eyes widen, and then he closes them, as if suspecting a kiss…

My stomach squirms and sinks as if I had just eaten a live octopus when Ben and James' young mouths touch. Aren't they awfully young to be experimenting like this? I mean, really, I didn't even know what sex _was_ when I was they're age. Then again I did hit puberty very late… A squelching sound and it's over.

"Bet you fucking liked that, didn't you? Pouf."

At that James shrinks. "Not really."

James tries to move, but Ben's weight keeps him pinned. His breathing lifts his chest up and down very fast, like a small bird's. Ben twists his wrists. "Ow!"

He kisses him again, one of those slobbery, teenaged kisses. Ben's stare is now full of lust, and James's is of fear.

"I… I'm not sure if I like this," says James, but the frailty undermines the firm words.

"I don't care."

"But…" A finger tugs at the band of his elastic underwear. I can only watch, appalled, as Ben's hand wanders further down underneath the slip of the elastic band. "I don't like that," says James, barely suppressing his panic.

"Aw, come on," says Ben, "You said you would."

My gut clenches again as Ben punches him in the gut. Winded, James claws at his face, but Ben's fingers wander further down…

"I don't want to," James says, more confidently.

Benjamin's grip around James's manhood tightens, especially as James tries to wriggle away. "I don't _like_ it!" he says more loudly. Stirring from the other room.

Ben laughs and then punches him, hard, in the gut, in the groin, in the face… hitting him everywhere. Blood trickles from his lip. He curls up, hands over his face.

Ben kicks him when he wriggles away. He pulls his hair clamps his mouth shut when he tries to cry out.

Tears stream from James's eyes…

I can't take anymore of this.

The soft night air hits my nostrils, and my stomach squirms and tightens as my head whirls. For a fleeting moment I think I'm going to be sick. The scene that Potter's father played out like charades in front of me plays out in my head again. Only the characters and places are very disgustingly specific. _Ben, go home, I'm calling the police_… he was molested… and beaten up…

I summon a vial out of thin air, tap my wand on Lily's memory, and insert it into the glass tube, sealing it with a cork.

_Bloody hell,_ I think to myself. _What has James been through_?

It all seems so inconsistent. If he were so tormented during his younger years then why would he torment me during school? If he knew what it was like to be bullied then why would he put somebody else through that humiliation? Why would he abuse me?

I don't understand it at all.

Another memory comes to the surface… tears stream down James's face, now maybe fourteen. His father paces back and forth in front of him.

"_Why_ did you hit that Snape boy again?"

I dive in. One answered question leads to ten more questions…

Potter glares out of an open window, where the quidditch pitch gleams in the sunlight. The stone rooms of Hogwarts fizzle into reality. Dumbledore sits behind his desk folding his fingers together, looking reserved and apologetic.

Potter glances up at Dumbledore and gives him a glare of loathing.

"Don't look at me like that, James," says the headmaster casually, "you know very well that what you did causes this sort of action. Previous headmasters would have expelled you on the spot if they had so much as…"

The portraits on the wall behind him nod in approval. One of them, Phineas Nigellis, actually claps.

"Yes," says Mr. Potter nervously fingering through his thinning hair, "you were absolutely right to call me, Albus, I'm afraid this has gotten quite out of hand."

I don't remember this ever happening… I never had an inkling that Potter and his gang ever got in any trouble for tormenting me. Besides fifth year, of course, but then he was just praised for saving my life… I _never_ heard that James was sent to the headmaster's office, _or_ that his parents were called. He seemed to just get away with everything… maybe they had tried to keep it hush-hush.

"This is a major concern not only for the school but for your own well-being, James." Dumbledore stirs a cup of tea that had popped out of thin air. He hands James a cup, but James just closes his eyes and turns away. "I want to know the root of this Snape business. I know he's unpopular. And he has an unhealthy fascination with the dark arts."

"And he's a _git_," Potter bellows.

Mr. Potter runs his face through his hands.

"But he's still a _human being_ who should be treated like one and not like a sack of potatoes," Dumbledore quips. "Or a quaffle. Or any other object."

Ah… I remember that one. James and Sirius had pretended I was a bludger. I still have the damn scars. They made great beaters.

James suppresses a grin. Which only makes Dumbledore and Mr. Potter more explosively angry. "James!" Mr. Potter balked, "This is not what we taught you to be! You are not a…"

"A bullying toerage…" James grumbles.

"Yes, right. You are _not_ a bullying toerag! You know _better_ than to treat another human being like that! Is it just because he's a half-blood?"

James scoffed, "O'course not."

"Is it because he's in slytherin?"

James rolls his eyes, "Not really."

"Is it because he likes the dark arts? Because he likes Lily?"

"It's just!" James bursts, "Because he's a greasy slimeball, ok?"

Dumbledore and Mr. Potter glance at each other. The headmaster leans back in his chair, takes a drag of tea, and says, "So it is because of Mr. Snape's, I'll admit, woefully poor hygiene habits that you feel the need to use him as a human punching bag?"

James sniffs, but doesn't say anything more.

"James…" Mr. Potter kneels down so that he can see his son eye-to-eye. "What is it? You can tell us…"

The headmaster raises one white eyebrow but says nothing.

James smacks backward in his chair, staring out at the quidditch pitch. His eyes seem suspiciously moist. He folds his arms and lets out a "huwua" of a sigh.

Mr. Potter eyes turn cold. He stands up at once, glaring down at his son, "James, you're grounded. You're to have no friends over this summer, and-"

"No!" James bellows. He must've been hoping for Sirius to come over this summer again.

"-And if you act up again, I will be personally pulling you off the quidditch team."

James's appalled expression widens so that I can see his tonsils.

"Headmaster?" Mr. Potter asks, apparently to add to the lists of punishments.

Dumbledore wipes his mouth sheepishly. "Er… tomorrow you're to help Hagrid with the bowtruckles," William nods firmly. The professor's blue eyes find James's. "Better go off to bed, now, James."

He shoos him away with the back of his hand.

Mr. Potter paces like a particularly agitated tiger, back and forth, staring at the floor, hands behind him.

James, who had turned at the door expecting some sort of acknowledgement from his father, tearfully slams the door with full force. Mr. Potter doesn't even flinch.

Dumbledore's tea and cakes are replaced by two shot glasses. He pours brandy over his beard and shakes his head. "William, I acknowledge that this may be embarrassing, that you may not have expected it, and that it might come off as a shock… but please explain to me why you are in such a heightened state of distress."

"He needs to see a psychologist," William growls, pacing still.

"A fine idea," Dumbledore strokes his beard, twisting the tuft of mustache at the corner of his mouth. He sips the brandy, studying the figure in front of him as he thumps back and forth, back and forth. "Do sit down; you're making _me_ nervous. And not even Voldemort can do that."

William shivers at the name, takes a seat on one of Dumbledore's plushy chairs, and grounds his palms into his eye sockets. "It's my fault," he grumbles. Dumbledore passes him the other shot glass.

"William, many parents feel that way. But many parents also tend to forget that their children have their own brains, heart and soul, and don't always act of their parent's will…" quips Dumbledore, refilling the glass when William downs the contents.

"Oh. It's not that, Albus," he downs the second glass. "I'm an idiot."

Dumbledore chuckles, "I have known many idiots, William. _You_ are not one of them. You just tend to do idiotic things for those whom you love…"

William stares. His face is blank, impassive, and somewhat sad. As if Dumbledore has gathered the entire nature of his character in a few sentences.

"I'm sorry," says the headmaster. "That wasn't my place."

"It was and that's the problem," William takes a deep breath. "James went through a certain… trauma… in his youth. Something terrible happened to him. And…"

Dumbledore strokes his hand through his beard again. "And?"

"I… I oblivated him."

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrow. He finally drains the content of the glass, and admits, "Yes. That was particularly idiotic." Williams stares at his hands, hunched over. "You knew better than that, William. _You_ of all people should know that the damaging psychological, emotional and magical effects of a memory still remain with or without that memory present!"

The father stares at Dumbedore's lush carpet under his feet, gulping out, "I just didn't want to see him in so much pain."

Dumbledore sighs. He twists his beard, and stiffly climbs from behind his desk to sit in front of it. He pats William once on the shoulder, as if to say, "well at least _I_ can understand _that_."

Mr. Potter's hand is over his face, and if his middle finger isn't covering his eyes he might be crying. Dumbledore, perhaps coming to realize that brandy simply wasn't enough, pulls a pack of small cigars from under the clock on his desk and lights one for himself with his wand. He offers one to William, who shakes his head. Dumbledore takes a long drag. The smoke that twirls from the end is purple and green.

It's so _odd_… seeing the white-bearded, noble, wise Dumbledore looking so… human. He takes long pulls from the cigar, the smoke billowing around him like spidery webs of air, crossing his legs and staring at William's degenerate form every now and then.

Finally he asks, "And you believe that this traumatic experience and the tormenting of Severus Snape are somehow related?"

William shakes his head. "He was beaten up as a kid. My only explanation is that he feels the need to place that inner aggression on other people."

"There's something more specific, isn't there?" Albus puffs, "Something you're not telling me."

William blushes, "My son is… he's… Mary and I suspect that the reason he was beaten up was that he… well, he… liked… another boy."

Albus's eyes are not sockets of fire but suddenly rueful orbs of compassion.

"And perhaps… I may be going off on a limb here, but… perhaps he likes this… this… Sevurnus boy."

Albus puffs his cigar even though the light has gone out. "Severus."

"Right. And… I'm no psychologist, mind, but I have read one or two books on Freud."

Albus grimaces, and then stares at his own cigar as though entertained, "Em. Keep in mind that Freud had been on cocaine for nearly a decade when he wrote his major findings."

"What?"

Albus smiles, "Go on."

"James may have a crush on this Semervus person. And it may make him so terrified that he feels that he will suffer though another trauma. And in order to solve this, he must beat up the other boy to reassure his masculinity and his pride."

Albus lifts his eyebrows, "A fine hypothesis."

"Is that it, do you think?"

"It's difficult to say. Though I don't believe it's far off," Albus puffs his cigar and says, "Poor James. We have got to find a way to help him. Though I am at a complete loss as to how to do so."

"Wait it out," Willaim runs a hand through his hair, "Wait until he gets over his crush…"

Albus rolls his eyes to the ceiling. "Lord knows that might never happen."

"Please, just don't _expel_ him, Albus," pleads William. "Just keep him in school, and if this happens again, I'm just a floo away."

The headmaster nods and watches impassively as Mr. Potter shakes floo powder into the fire and whooshes off to his mansion.

Fawkes lands on Albus's shoulder. He smashes the bud of his cigar in an empty gold plate.

I pull out again.

"Severus!" calls Mary Potter's voice from the hall. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Yes, madam," I call back, catching my bearings and leaving this cursed room.

My eyes are still adjusting to the brightness of the hall when Mrs. Potter pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. "Severus, darling. You're so very brave. We could never repay you for helping our James."

"Nevermind," I whisper guiltily.

She hic-cups through tears, stuttering through the fast words, "S-s-sirius always g-goes with him to the party, be-because God knows why but they've always b-b-been _afraid _of him. And I don't know what I would do if anyone harmed him. And I know that you of all people have a right to just w-w-walk away and w-watch."

"Don't be silly," I mumble, "I'd never let anything happen to James."

"I was so s-s-scared because I thought they'd have a go at b-both of you. But James told me you were so b-b-brave, and that he loves you…"

She claps her hands over her mouth. "I s-s-s-shouldn't have said that."

I smile.

"But it so good of you to help him. So self-s-s-sacrificing."

The more she talks, the more I feel like my feet are sinking into the rug. It swallows me whole, like quicksand. The more I feel like I have no right at all to hate him after all.

"Did you ever show him what happened?" I cut across her. "After Mr. Potter took out the memory?"

She shakes her head and blows her nose on a lacey handkerchief. "We just told him. He didn't even need us to tell him. He knew. He would always be paralyzed with f-f-f-fear when Ben came around."

I grimace at the floor, remembering how roughly I had treated him this very afternoon. At any point he could have been afraid, but I wouldn't have taken any notice. But he wasn't afraid of _me_ was he?

Mrs. Potter tries to pull herself together through the handkerchief. I pat her on the arm as if to say, _there's nothing to worry about_.

"I need to talk to James," I say resolutely.

* * *

I snuggle on the couch, bare feet curled underneath me for warmth, a duvet wrapped around my shoulders, trying to pull myself together. A cup of tea grows cold on the coffee table. That was so embarrassing. I'm not supposed to act this weak in front of Snivellus. He was just coming to respect me, too. I try not to think about it. Trying and failing, cringing at the expression on Severus's face. I am a failure. He thinks I'm pathetic. I am pathetic.

I don't know what's _wrong _with me. Why I let Ben get to me like this… Sirius has protected me from him all these years. I think it's because he makes so many gay jokes that it just terrifies Harding so that he can't even bring himself to punch him. Severus… Severus didn't do that. He just stared at me, as if he _knew_.

And he said he didn't care if I was queer.

What the hell? Of course he fucking said that. We nearly had sex this afternoon.

I'm _not _queer though.

I am.

The pangs on the muscles of my heart twang as if someone were strumming the strings of muscle, pulling back my chest like a bow. The familiar thumping in my chest whistles in my ears. I feel the tug and pull of unconsciousness. Ben tormented me about being gay so much that I never thought I could be.

_Hey Foureyes! Is that come on your chin? Get over here!_

_Stop it! I'm not queer. Shut up!_

Severus's cold hand on my knee. His kisses in the smoke-strewn bar, Speakeasies. He fucks me with his fingers, and even though I'm so incredibly scared, I'm enjoying it. Even in the case of so much evidence I am suffering this horrible denial.

_Lily's pink frilly bra._

_Looking away, thinking of other things when I saw other boys in the showers._

God, I got so _good_ at it, too. This powerful denial. This reconstruction of my life, so that anyone who looked at me couldn't _dare_ question my sexuality. I couldn't question it either. It was impossible. James Potter, a queer? Of course not. Are you mad? _That_ guy?

Not Snivellus, though.

He's a fucking flamer if I ever saw one.

"_Potter, let me DOWN!"_

_A boy, twisting in pain above me, upside-down, again. _

"_But you'll have so much fun up there! How about I take your clothes off? Maybe then all those dirty Slytherins can have their way with you!"_

"_STOP!"_

"_Oh, what's that? You would rather have Gryffindors do it? Sniv, you perv…"_

_Snivellus's robes fall to the floor, he vainly tries to cover himself, naked except for graying underwear. I am splitting my sides with laughter_…

Oh, Sev. I am such a horrid person, dragging you into this cycle of abuse…

"Having a bad day-dream?" A warm, comforting voice behind me whispers.

I nod. Severus's arms wrap around my shawl-covered shoulders. He lazily trails patterns on my open palm. "What can I do? What do you need me to do?"

I don't trust myself to speak. _Forgive me. Hold me. Love me_. I shake my head, "I'm fine, you git. I can take care of myself."

He clutches me tighter to him. I can feel the fluttering of his heartbeat on my back. "James… I can get rid of him, if you ask me to," he whispers.

"What?" his words barely sink into my ears. I'm so overcome with this deadening emotion.

"I can make him go away. So he doesn't bother you anymore."

This fierce loyalty. It's what Lily was afraid of. I know in my heart if I asked him to walk outside and cast _Avada Kedavra _on Benjamin Harding he would immediately go and do it. The suspicions about the dark arts, Deatheaters and Voldemort writhe in the back of my brain. "No. I don't want you to do anything like that."

"I don't have to _kill_ him," he whispers, "just make him shut up, just make him not want to touch you anymore."

I want that. I really, really do.

But I know that letting Severus do this would be like setting a mad dog off its chain. "Sev… I don't want to put you in danger."

"I won't be in danger."

I want him to get Benjamin. It just feels so right, him coming to my rescue.

"No…" I mumble weakly.

"I'll be back," says Sev.

_Yes, do it_.

"Severus, _don't_!" I bellow.

I turn my head and he's gone from the living room. The curtain rises and falls as if he had just swept by it.

My father's wheelchair squeaks into the room. He obliviously scans the area. He does his usual dance about the living room, squeaking in between and around furniture, between the coffee table and couch and footrest, until he gets to me, and smiles. "Jamie, you alright?" He pats my knee with his warm, elderly hands. He is bottling his concern up, trying not to appear too tender. "You look a bit peeky. And you've wasted your tea."

I eye the cup of cold brown liquid.

My father watches me. I sit there, not responding, embarrassed beyond belief.

"We should go get the pies. The party is probably almost over." He says finally. "Where has Severus run off to?" He studies the twilight outside between the curtains.

"Dunno," I lie. "Said he had to do something and come back."

Father grimaces, as though he disapproves of this behavior, but doesn't say anything. "Right then. I'll get the blueberry and apple, and you can get the pumpkin and raspberry. And the rhubarb, if you can manage it."

I rustle my hair and straighten my polo, making myself more presentable. I charm away the tea. Shooing the cup and saucer to scuttle back to their places in the cabinet, I ask, "What about mum?"

"She wants to rest, now," Father says. "Go say goodnight to her, then."

Mum is wearing her most ancient and sweet night gown. Seashell pink, and it goes all the way to her ankles. A tangle of sewn-in plastic gems and silky frills lines her chest. She takes out her earrings out of wrinkled ears with thick, old hands.

"Mummy," I whisper, loosing all traces of dignity. I've lost it all, anyway. "Night…"

"Oh, good night, pumpkin. Take care of your old man, will you?" She grasps both cheeks in her cold, wrinkling hands and kisses me very softly on my brow, the scent of her perfume wafts through my nostrils. Lavender and peppermint. The familiar, warm smell makes me want to just lay here and curl by the foot of the bed like I did when I had nightmares as a boy.

A bit of lipstick that she had not taken off yet smears on my forehead. I feel it's stickiness but I don't want to wipe it away.

She beams at me. Her eyes glisten in an _I'm-so-proud-of-you_ way. She ruffles my hair and says, strangely, "What a catch, hmm?"

I think she's referring to chasers and quaffles until she clarifies, "That Severus boy."

_Oh, him_. Yes. Better than any golden snitch.

I shrug.

"Do you love him?"

I feel my neck reddening. All the stuff from before, Ben, me tormenting Snape, upside-down with his trousers down, comes into my head. I feel a sickening bubble in my stomach as if this were a very unacceptable topic to discuss with my lovely sweet mother.

My lips tighten like McGonagall's. Images of destruction stir in the back of my brain, of Ben pulling my pants down in front of all the girls, of him flicking ashes on my chest a few hours ago, of Severus's sickly underwear when I raised him by the ankles, pushing him down the stairs, of his come on my chest, of his bleeding face underneath me in the alleyway next to the warehouse, of his betrayal, of _her_ rutting against him, of him telling me that he loves me, of him fucking me with the broom, of Tobias and the family album, of a kiss shared at Speakeasies, of a whispered "_Darling_" when he thought I was still asleep…

This jumble of emotions could be called love. I never expected it to be this cruel or complicated or humiliating. It's not the fairy-tale love where things become better, where the couple are happy, where they ride off into the sunset.

This love can only lead to pain, destruction, secrecy… even if we one day learn to trust each other… I never knew love could hurt this badly.

Love that's not… convenient.

"Yes."

It wrenches out of me when I say it. I hope it isn't true. But it is. That's the problem. And I want… _need_ more of it.

"Oh, Severus. He is good for you." Mum says.

Her eyes glitter. She loves me. But the love she has for me is not convenient either. I wrap my arms around her. She's worked so hard for me, as a parent.

She pats me on the head, holding me to her cold, shriveling chest.

"You two should stick together. You're going to last. I know it."

I cough out, "Reading too many romance novels, mother?"

"Call it a mother's intuition."

* * *

It's gotten cold outside. I insist that we go back in to get Dad a pair of gloves. His hands always freeze because of the wheelchair. He gets angry when I fuss over him, so I pretend that it's _me_ that's far too cold and needs to go back. After our fingers are properly covered, we walk and wheel down the lane. I double take at every street corner, staying away from backlit alleys. The pies tempt me as I walk down to the party, which is now only lit by candlelight and fireflies. The children and wives have mostly all gone to bed. With a relieved sigh I realize that _includes_ Muriel and Bathilda.

I hope Severus is all right.

The men and boys that are left are beginning to wind down. One group is in a taboo discussion about religion. Another group is in a taboo discussion about politics. And another (a group of teenage boys) is talking about sex in hushed voices. I roll my eyes. What alcohol and caffeine does to stiff-upper-lip Anglicans!

But when my father and I pass to the dessert table, a row of men follow us, sniffing and getting a look at this year's goods. The older families in the community immediately know which pies they are, who made them, and which ones will be gobbled up first. The newer groups, like the Palsma-Sparrows, are going to have to find out for themselves.

Every year, without fail, the apple pie is gone within minutes, and sure enough four men with pipes and three older adolescents immediately get a slice. One is left. I am about to grab the last bite but I guiltily pass it to the elder Palsma-boy.

Father immediately strikes up a conversation with a longtime friend/enemy/neighbor Joshua Green. Mr. Green is an obnoxious man with a lot of money, mostly from oil in far-off places. He was born filthy rich, and "hasn't changed a hoot in fifty years," or so says my father. He's usually caught with a pipe with a tennis-ball sized head between his teeth under a gray mustache, a jacket with leather pads on the elbows, and an overall impression of constant smugness. My father hates the man.

Usually at this point in the party, every year, his boy, James Green, for one reason or another insists on talking to me. He seems to think that since we share the same first name we share the same interests. This is _not _the case. He likes tobacco, fine cutlery, and Indian women. I like quidditch, chocolate frog cards, and sneaky Slytherins with black hair and hooked noses. We do not get along. But the infernal man pretends that we do. I must avoid him at all costs.

Hastily I try to pay my closest attention to a slice of pumpkin pie.

"Oh _there_ you are, old boy, haven't seen you all night!" says the strapping boy who bounces across the dessert table in a fine, unwrinkled brown suit. "What on earth have you been up to?"

I want so dearly to say, _I've been having sex with a man._ But I bite out, "Nothing."

The only good thing about my yearly conversations with James is that I don't have to say much. "Oh, really? Well I've been off to South Africa. Father has a yacht in Port Elizabeth, do you know, and I've spent the last few months down there. It's a good thing too; I heard you had had terrible weather. Was it alright?"

I shrug.

"Well my mother complained of it, I can assure you. We were digging for pearls of all things. And one of my men found one the size of a golf-ball," He says.

With very little energy, I mock astonishment, "No, you don't say?"

From across the table, I catch Father's eye. We grin at each other. The apple doesn't fall from the tree.

"Yes, I had an awfully good time. I made Amulya a long string of pearls and sent it to her. She died when she heard I found each one myself. Almost _died_."

"Psst," A voice from the bushes says.

"Anyway. Who was that nice young man that you had brought to the party earlier. A friend of yours? He seemed very posh. I've never seen him here before."

Crap. I actually have to pay attention now. "Er…"

"What does he do business in? Is he working… professionally?"

"Psst."

"Yes. Chemistry. His name is Severus."

"Oh what a very strange name," he says. "Where do you find these fellows with such strange names? Who was the other one? Sir-us?"

"PSST."

"Sorry… if you would excuse me…" I mutter, glaring into the bush.

He's there all right. Speak of the devil. Severus looks windswept but savagely content. His suit is rumpled. So is his hair.

He motions with his hand for me to come here.

"Sorry," I dishonestly apologize to James, "Don't mind me, somebody is drunk. Got to go take care of them."

"Oh right," he says. He makes a disappointed frown.

Thank God. Severus grasps my hand and we run off. He leads me down one back alley, then another, and then a back lawn.

"You have the best timing in the world," I whisper. "What is it?"

"It's a present," he says.

We chase a doe through some back bushes. A field nearby is lit only by moonlight. Wispy grains shiver in the wind. A World War II bunker in the distance appears like a black matchbox. We stalk though the growth like tigers until I see a figure, like a very, very large bat hanging from an oak tree.

Slowly padding though the field, I realize that it's an upside-down human being.

"Lumos Maxima," Severus shouts.

And of course it is Ben, hanging by a rope from his ankles, swaying back and forth. His face is white even despite the blood flowing to his head. Tears stream down his forehead. He looks terrified.

"Sev, what did you do?"

But as he swings slowly with a _creak, creak_, I can catch a glint of a slash across his back. Blood drips from an open wound.

"Apologize, worm," Sev demands.

He points his wand to the bottom of Ben's stubbly chin. Ben wibbles. His cracked lips shiver.

He then burst into tears. "I'M SORRY I HURT YOU! I'M SORRY!"

His voice shrinks and shrivels like a four-year old girl's… like a pig's.

Severus digs the wand further into his flesh. His eyes flash dangerously.

"I'M SORRY AND I'LL NEVER TOUCH YOU AGAIN!"

My stomach churns and burns. I didn't want it to get like this.

"SWEAR IT!" shouts Severus.

Ben heaves in a great sob, "I SWEAR! I SWEAR ON MY MUM! PLEASE!"

"Ok," I whisper. "Alright. Sev, let him down."

He stares the tied figure sadly. "I thought we could just leave him up."

Ben sobs. He chokes and coughs out his own snot. I grimace. His blue eyes glance at me pleadingly, and then back at the ground as though he thinks he'll be beaten for such insolence. "No… let him down, Sev," I whisper. "That's enough."

Ben whimpers with relief when he falls to the ground.

"I don't think it is," Severus growls. "It can't ever be enough."

He shrivels and cries on the ground, hands still behind his back. The dirt and salt grinds into his open wound as he tries to swing around like a turtle on it's back.

"Sev," I grasp his hand, which is caked with mud and grim, "There's no taking back what happened to me. And there's no taking back what I did to you."

His mouth is a thin, tight line.

"You've already made me such a better person-" I start.

"FUCKING queers, let me _go_!"

Severus raises his wand and without flinching casts, "Sectumsempra!"

A red line dribbles blood beneath Ben's bellybutton. Sev is holding himself back for me. It's merely a deep, thick gash.

"Killing him is not going to solve anything," I finish, eyes on only Severus.

Ben lets out a fresh wail.

Severus glances at me though curtains of messy hair. "You're right."

"What I really want is for you to forgive me."

"Of course."

"Can you?"

He kicks Ben in the shoulder, flipping him back onto his bloody back.

A wand jabs his throat, "You will not. Touch him. Ever. Again."

Ben nods. The blue eyes that terrified me for years flush with tears. "Y-y-yes, I promise."

He casts a countercurse for the magical binds on his wrists.

"Run along before I decide I haven't beaten you enough."

He does. Before we speak again he is a dot on the horizon.

"Sorry," Severus mumbles.

"Why?"

"Got out of hand." He fingers his wand at both ends.

I wrap my arm around his shoulders.

The weight of understanding passes over us. The shared pains and torments, the hurt of being pushed around, abused, until we couldn't get up any longer. The taunting, the spiteful words, the insults, the cutting, the hitting, the faking… All of this flies away from us with Ben's turned back. Yes, it is still real, and no, it can't be forgotten. The blood boils beneath Severus's shoulder.

He still wants revenge. But maybe not _from_ _me_ anymore, but _for me_.

"Let's go back."

* * *

I sway as if I have a belly full of blood churning in my stomach. Hurting Ben was entirely far more unsatisfying than I thought. I had considered… no. Not even I should consider that. Not to mention a sudden visit to Macnair would raise suspicions among fellow Deatheaters…

But he's _ever so fond_ of muggle torture. Perhaps I should have brought him to Malfoy.

But the sick, unsettled feeling lurching in the pit of my stomach won't go away. I can't save James. I can't change the past. I can't erase the chain of events that leads him to hurt me. I can't _make_ James love me.

The comforting hand in mine is the only thing stopping me from falling over or passing out. Violence has always been the solution for me. Call me a fool but somehow I could never understand the words "violence is not the answer". It is. Just not a good one.

"I don't feel well," I say suddenly. "I want to go back to the house."

"Oh," James sooths, running his fingers up and down my spine, "Alright, go up, and I'll get Dad and meet you back there. Ok?"

I nod.

The streets are too quiet when I walk though them.

A muscle in the bottom of my stomach twitches spastically as I step a foot on the banister. Something's not right. I sniff the air. The stench of warm pies and cake has been washed away by the odor of dust.

Swallowing hard, I step onto the carpet. Thump. Thump. My footsteps fall as slowly as the seconds ticking on the grandfather clock at the corner of the room. Midnight. Something's not right. Something's definitely not right. A smell on the edge of the cheesy smell of mold stings my nostrils and they flare. I try to slow my quickening heartbeat. Only one lamp is on downstairs. Maybe Mrs. Potter when to bed early.

"Mrs… Mrs. Potter?" I ask on the end of the wind. I bite my lip.

No answer. But that is nothing to worry about. She just probably has the music on very loud. I can hear it's bluesy jangling through the hall. It buoys my confidence. The soft lamplight glows solitary in the dark hall, illuminating a vase of dead roses. Their dead black leaves look like beetles in this light. "Mrs. P?" I ask, a little more loudly, a little more confidently, trying to sound like Sirius… when there is no answer I bend the door backwards, sending a cascade of light over the carpet.

The room is void of movement, save for the record player scratching out an old tune.

_I went down to St. James Infirmary_…

The circular chandelier is lined with cobwebs and dust, making it appear waspish, ghost-like. The red Persian rug, the pale wooden-lined Victorian loveseat, the china set at the corner of the room, the golden-rimmed telephone, the tall furniture-like radio set. It all looks like it could be preserved in a museum.

_And I saw my baby there_…

_She was stretched out on a long white table_,

_So cold…_

_So pale_…

My eyes scan the room again, taking in the tall, dying hydrangeas from outside of the dark window through thick, rug-like, yellow curtains. I am about to leave and shut off the light when the corner of a white thumb catches my eye.

_So fair_…

The music fades into nothingness. My ears are ringing. Underneath the couch is hand crouched in an odd position, and a head facedown into the carpet.

I am there in an instant, at her side, echoing, "Mary! Mary Potter!" throughout the house. Shaking fingers grope a cold neck for a pulse. The top of her white waspish hair glows red. "_HELP!_" My fingers feel nothing, when I pull them back they are stained with her blood. Impossible… how?

The corner of my heel kicks a door that I had not seen before. Handsome, dark-stained wood opens up to reveal a hidden staircase. "A staircase?" I ask the sleeping figure. She must've fallen down the stairs while… we were gone.

"_Help!_" I call again, and the voice is not my own. "_James! Mr. Potter! Help, somebody!_" Trying to stifle my panic, I think to myself, _you are a wizard, are you not? Use your wand_! I pull it out and flick it into an arrangement of positions, whispering incantations whilst tears of panic and pain threaten.

Mary… what happened? Why did you fall? What were you doing?

_It must've been an accident_, answers a calmer voice in my head.

She's not dead, though. She can't be dead. It's just not possible. She had been making pies merely an hour ago. She sent me with them over to the party. She had to be still, very much alive.

_She may search this whole wide world over…_

The woman who I was just beginning to understand… James! Stay here for James, Mary!

_She'll never find a man like me_.

But it's no use. One of the spells of my own invention tells me that she's been dead for at least a half an hour. That can't be it. I'm just not doing it right. Check her vital signs again.

I lift the cold hand, and I know at that touch that she is no longer alive. It is stiff, completely unmoving, frail, cold… when I touch her veins, there is nothing moving underneath my fingertips. She is gone. The pale wreck of a fumbling old body, too slow for her quick, young soul lays before me on the hearthrug. A _thing_ wearing her clothes and face.

"_James!_" I sob into my hands. My wand, a useless stick on the floor in front of me. "_JAMES!_"

James peers through the door.


End file.
